


Desiderium

by mrnotaboy



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi | Fire Emblem: Binding Blade
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Comedy of Errors, Everyone has the Idiot Ball, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I swear it's supposed to be a comedy, Jealousy, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Canon Compliant, Roy is under the influence of magic during most of this, Takes place years after FE6, everyone is ooc, i am sorry for this paltry meal please forgive me, no beta we die like friendless losers, political manipulation gone wrong, probably the dumbest thing that I have ever written, rated for language and sexually suggestive situations, so if that squicks you at all heads up, violence against the elderly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2020-09-25 22:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrnotaboy/pseuds/mrnotaboy
Summary: "There was absolutely nothing wrong with a good party, but had Wolt known that he was going to end the night by tackling a feeble looking old nobleman into the hedges of the castle’s maze he might’ve tried to convince Roy to cancel."After a scheming noble's plan falls through, Wolt has to deal with an increasingly uncomfortable infatuation.





	1. In Which Wolt Assaults the Elderly

**Author's Note:**

> If you're struggling with any of the themes or behaviours depicted in this fic, please see my bio for resources. You're not alone, and I love you.
> 
> TLDR; fiction=okay, reality=NEVER okay, stay safe and stay informed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this was supposed to a silly oneshot palette cleanser from a more serious fic i was writing and now I'm too obsessed with how dumb it is to stop.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with a good party, but had Wolt known that he was going to end the night by tackling a feeble looking old nobleman into the hedges of the castle’s maze he might’ve tried to convince Roy to cancel. 

Everything started out fine, of course. The garden party that Roy had been chosen to host was a standard diplomatic endeavor meant to celebrate the five years of hard-won peace and prosperity they had all enjoyed after the war with Bern. He’d extended invitations to the usual guests--important ambassadors from all over Elibe, the earls of Pherae, the families of the other marquis of Lycia--and by the time everyone had arrived the castle manor seemed to be full to bursting.

All five kingdoms had sent their best, and it was wonderful to see so many familiar faces from the war smiling and enjoying themselves after all those years. The gardens had been primped to be especially beautiful, and in the evening they had sent tiny, sparkling yellow lights up into the sky to light the affair like a personal army of bright burning stars. Wolt had lived on the estate for the entirety of his life, and still he found himself left breathless by the sight.

The celebration did not stay so perfect.

Towards the end of the night, one of Roy’s earls had taken the young lord aside and asked to discuss some matters concerning the running of his county. Wolt followed them from a few paces behind, as was his duty, and the elderly man paid him no mind as they started to traverse the labyrinth. It was all going fine enough, until the man pointed out a particularly beautiful rose bush that had been grown into the inner walls of the maze.

Now, listen. Wolt was not in the habit of randomly tackling his betters, especially not those of advancing age. That much must be said. However, when he turned a corner of the hedge and saw the nobleman spill a strange powder into a distracted Roy’s wine glass, Wolt felt that in that moment he really couldn’t be held liable for his actions.

The earl screamed bloody murder when he went down, which was fair enough, Wolt supposed. He had landed in a fairly prickly patch of fresh blooming roses and he was certainly having a great amount of trouble getting back up, but for the moment Wolt paid him no mind. Something was wrong.

The old man had started yelling about decency and how he could buy and sell Wolt’s life a hundred times over and _ did he not know who he was _, but it went ignored as Roy stared into the hedges, a perturbed expression on his otherwise still face. His glass lay abandoned on the ground, the dark red wine shining oddly metallic as it leached into the perfectly raked soil below.

“Master Roy?” Wolt asked, concerned, and his hands quickly found Roy’s shoulders. His heart pounded in his chest, worry forming a tight knot in his throat. “Master Roy, are you alright? You didn’t drink any of that, did you?”

Gently, the archer shook the other man’s shoulders and peered into his face. “Hello?”

Roy was silent for a moment, still staring off into the nether, but soon his eyes found Wolt’s and a slow, fond, easy smile found his way across his face.

“Oh, Wolt,” he said, his eyes shining, “Hello. My _ gods, _Wolt, it’s good to see you.”

Roy reached up to cup the other man’s face in his hands then, and it was in that moment that Wolt knew that the rest of his night would be going straight to shit.

\--

To say that Wolt had a bit of a crush on his lord would be a dire understatement.

He didn’t know when his feelings had started, but he knew that in the long run it didn't really matter. Roy had always been so kind and brave--and yes, handsome--that to Wolt his feelings felt more like an eventuality than anything else.

This is why he had thrown himself into his role of servitude with such fervor; he knew he could never truly love his Roy the way he wanted to, so he had decided early on to do the next best thing. He would take care of him, be there for him, stay by his side in the only way his place in society would allow.

Wolt was utterly devoted to Roy, and between being willing to give his own life for him and literally shoving a geriatric member of the landed gentry into the shrubbery for the sake of his protection, it was clear that Wolt would go to great lengths to see and keep his lord happy, healthy, and safe.

All that being said, Lord Roy was currently creeping the_ everloving hell _ out of him _ . _

He just wouldn’t stop _ staring. _He still had that dreamy, unblinking, all-devouring smile on his face, and worst of all, no one else seemed to notice. Lady Clarine, who had been in attendance that evening and declared herself the only magic user fit to examine the marquis, had sceptically shot down any notion of Roy’s manner being strange.

“He’s _ always _like that,” she said as she peered into Roy’s open mouth. “Did you see exactly what he drank? His palate has already cleared itself.”

“It was a fine, blue powder,” Wolt replied. “Periwinkle maybe? It made the wine look all shimmery when it dissolved.”

Clarine clicked her tongue impatiently. The party had dispersed around the time that the nobleman was arrested, kicking and screaming, and the young countess had decided that they were to retire to the manor’s infirmary to inspect her patient. The first thing she’d done was to shoo away all of the staff with a haughty, practiced air, and she only allowed Wolt to stay on the grounds that he'd been the one to witness the alleged poisoning.

“That could be almost anything,” she scoffed. “Lord Roy, do you remember what it tasted like?”

“Not particularly,” said Roy, and he sent another fond smile Wolt’s way. “I’m sure if it wasn’t for Wolt I wouldn’t of noticed at all.”

“Well,” Clarine concedes, “you do have a slight fever. Knowing you’ve been slipped something, I can’t in good conscious leave you like this.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” she said, firmly. “There’s no helping it. I’m afraid I’m just going to have to extend my stay until this whole mess has been resolved.”

Wolt choked on thin air.

“O-oh?” he asked, a sense of dread creeping down his back. Clarine had never really liked him, and she seemed to be just as sharp tongued and impatient as she was during the war.

“My brother will have to stay as well, of course,” she continued, arms crossed. “So be sure to ready your finest rooms for us. We _ are _Etrurian nobility, afterall.”

Wolt perked up a little at that.

“Lord Klein is staying, too, then?”

“Of course he will be,” Clarine replied haughtily. “I’m sure that he’ll be utterly concerned for my safety. A delicate young lady such as myself, who knows what could happen if I were left unattended.”

Wolt knew for a fact that she was next in line to be mage general once Lady Cecillia retired, and he could still vividly remember watching her rip countless enemy soldiers to shreds. But yes, of course, delicate.

This did put a bit of a brighter lean on things, though. Clarine could be intolerable at times, but Klein was wonderful at keeping his little sister in line. Not to mention that he himself was a delight, always so handsome and kind, and such a talented archer, and--

Well, alright. Wolt would be lying if he said he hadn’t had a small crush on him back when he first tried to give up on Roy. Honestly, though, Wolt felt that you’d be hard pressed to find a person who didn’t have feelings for Klein at some point or another. He was just so… _ charismatic, _ to put it one way.

Roy was staring at him again, but this time the fond expression had dropped from his face. He gazed at Wolt in an almost calculating way before turning back to Clarine, and when he spoke to her it was with a strained, polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Are you sure you want to go through the trouble?” he asked. “I imagine Etruria will be missing their best ambassadors, and I feel absolutely fine. Really.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Clarine insisted, utterly determined. Obviously, she had already made up her mind. “We’re staying and that’s final. I do hope, though, that you have finer sheets than the ones you provided us with last night, Lord Roy.”

Wolt would soon learn that this night would only be the start of his horrible, week-long headache.

\--

Lilina had been terribly concerned when they all finally emerged from the infirmary, but Roy had waved her off as cheerfully as he had everyone else.

“Everything’s fine,” Roy said, smiling reassuringly, and he squeezed the hand she had offered gently. “Whatever it was hasn’t affected me a whit, and we’ll be having a talk tomorrow with Count Agios to see exactly what it was he was trying to achieve.”

Lilina still looked concerned.

“These sorts of things can be unpredictable,” she said. “Are you sure I shouldn’t stay as well?”

“Everything is going to be okay,” Roy promised, and though Lilina bit her lip doubtfully, they all said their goodnights and went on their separate ways.

That had been over two hours ago, and Wolt had just been able to fall asleep when he heard the door to his room creak open.

“Are you awake, Wolt?” a soft, hushed voice asked from the darkness.

Groggily, Wolt leaned over to strike a match and light the candle he kept next to his bed.

“Is everything alright, Master Roy?” he asked. He sat himself up on his elbows as his friend took a seat on the edge of his bed, and he squinted as he searched his face for signs of distress. “Is it the powder?”

Roy smiled at him, shaking his head. He eyes glittered in the gentle, flickering candle light, and despite his worry and the sleep still in his eyes Wolt couldn’t help but admire him. The glow of the flame danced golden on the marquis’ freckled skin and auburn hair, and his light linen nightshirt draped perfectly over his strong shoulders. For the second time that night, Wolt found himself rendered breathless by an otherwise familiar and beloved sight.

“Nothing’s wrong,” said Roy, and he moved to lie on the bed proper. It was a bit of a tight fit, and they both had to shuffle around to find a comfortable position for the two of them.

“I just thought I should come see you.”

Wolt laughed, shifting his weight onto one arm.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You haven’t crawled into my bed since we were ten.”

“Maybe I was just feeling lonely tonight,” Roy said coyly. There was a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, and Wolt couldn’t help the wild way his heart beat against his ribs.

“Tired is more like it,” he replied, laying back into his pillow. “Today was busy even without the whole mess at the end. You should go back to bed, Lord Roy.”

Roy hummed thoughtfully, and he put his hand on Wolt’s sternum as he leaned over him.

“Maybe,” he said, and he rubbed his thumb against the archer's chest in a slow, gentle arc. “But I haven’t thanked you for tonight yet, have I?”

Then, in one swift movement, Roy swooped down and closed the distance between them.

Wolt could practically hear the shattering noise his brain made when it broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarine: Im just a widdle babby  
Wolt: I've literally seen you kill people but go off i guess
> 
> I haven't posted a fanfic in years and it is still terrifying, ngl


	2. In Which The Lead Is Buried

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote klein/wolt once when i was like 15 and it's haunted me ever since

When Lilina had gone down to the kennels to say goodbye to Wolt that morning, she didn’t expect to find him sitting on a step stool and staring blankly out into space. Usually he’d be hard at work with his morning chores, getting the dogs ready for their run and cleaning their crates, but today he was just… sitting there. One of the larger hounds was aggressively licking at the side of his head, but if Wolt had noticed then he was far too busy studying dust mites to care. 

“Hello, Wolt?” Lilina ventured into the main space of the kennel cautiously. Wolt kept staring at nothing, as if he were blind and deaf, but the dog he’d been absently petting perked their little head up and ran forwards to meet her, tail wagging vigorously.

Wolt continued to pet the air for a moment, and instantly Lilina knew something terrible must have happened.

“_ Wolt, _” she repeated loudly, and she clapped her hands in front of his face. He startled at that, as if waking from a stupor, and he blinked up at the newcomer standing in front of him.

“Lady Lilina?” he said, and his voice sounded appropriately dazed as he pushed away the hound still slobbering on his ear. His hair on that side of his head stood up at a strange angle, slick with dog drool, and Lilina would've been laughing if she wasn’t so concerned.

“Wolt, are you alright?” she asked. Her tone was worried as she peered into his face, and she searched his eyes. Was he concussed? Maybe his head had been hit during the commotion last night and nobody had noticed. “What happened to you?”

Wolt blanched at the question and sat up rod straight, the sudden movement startling the curious dogs gathered around him.

“Nothing,” he said defensively, his voice high and strained. “Nothing happened. Why do you ask?”

“Well,” Lilina ventured. “To start, you’re not wearing any shoes.”

Wolt quickly looked down to see that, yes, he’d been walking around the grounds barefoot that entire morning, and there was little bits of dried dirt and grass caked between his toes.

“You still have stubble on your face as well. You always shave first thing, don’t you?”

Wolt reached a hand up to self consciously touch his chin. Suddenly, as if the movement had reminded him of something, he looked up at Lilina with an expression of pure and utter panic.

“Lady Lilina,” he said urgently. “Master Roy is not okay.”

\--

It had taken Lilina a while to calm Wolt down enough to get him to tell her what happened, and after he finished she found herself rather bemused.

“Oh,” she said, feeling a bit awkward. “Congratulations?”

If Lilina was being honest, she'd thought that the two had gotten together years ago, but she held her tongue. Perhaps Wolt wasn’t aware of how obviously he wore his emotions on his sleeve, and Elimine knows it wasn’t her place to tell him. This was a jar of worms that Lilina was more than content to leave alone.

“_ Not _ congratulations,” Wolt corrected. “It must of been that strange powder, right? Why else would he do… _ that.” _

“Well,” started Lilina, trying to lighten the mood. “Usually when one person likes another…”

“This isn’t funny,” Wolt insisted. Frazzled, he finished brushing the burrs from the last of his dogs and stood up.

“We can’t tell anyone,” he said, determined. “Lord Roy would be _ mortified. _”

Lilina frowned at him. 

“That’s a little unreasonable, don’t you think?” she said. “If this is because of the powder then we have to tell _ someone. _”

“But if the other men find out--”

Then they wouldn’t be very shocked, Lilina thinks bluntly. But... that was unkind of her, wasn't it?

“How about just Lady Clarine, then,” she offers instead. “She seems determined to see to Roy’s health, after all.”

Wolt hesitated, the shadow of a grimace flashing across his face, but eventually he agreed.

“Just Lady Clarine,” he said, and after deciding to reconvene in a few hours Lilina left to inform Roy of her own extended visit.

They were going to get to the bottom of this, Wolt thought, feeling strangely optimistic as he let the hounds out for their run. And better yet, no one else had to find out about Roy’s strange behaviour.

Everything was going to be okay.

\--

Everything was not okay.

There was an extra face sitting the drawing room when Wolt arrived to meet Lilina and Clarine, and any optimism he had earlier of keeping his master’s dignity intact flew out the window. 

“Oh,” said Wolt. “Hello, Lord Klein.”

“Hello,” said Klein, and he waved cheerfully at the younger man from where he sat on the settee. His sister sighed impatiently from her spot beside him when she saw Wolt’s confused expression.

“I told him, of course,” she said. “He was scolding me for extending our stay without telling him. What else was I to do?”

God_ dammit _, Lady Clarine, Wolt thought, but he quickly corrected himself. She couldn’t of known that he wanted to keep things a secret, and Klein was well known to be clever. Having him involved could only help things, right? He needed to be more patient.

Lilina smiled at him apologetically from a fainting couch, and she patted the seat next to her.

“Come tell them what you told me, Wolt,” she said kindly, and Wolt nervously crossed the room, sat down, and did as he was told.

There’s a moment of silence once he finished, but it’s quickly disrupted by Clarine's short, disbelieving laugh.

“It’s not funny,” Wolt groused miserably. “You must not understand.”

“Oh, I understand,” says Clarine, her face the very image of sarcastic disbelief. “You dreamt that Lord Roy came into your room, kissed you, and then left. What I don’t understand is _ why _ you feel the need to tell us all.”

“It wasn’t a dream!” Wolt protested. He could feel his face start to burn red, but he didn’t know if it was from his embarrassment or his annoyance.

“Are you sure?” Clarine teased. “Everyone is well aware of how fond you are of him, after all.”

Despite his promise to stay patient, Wolt bristled angrily.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said briskly.

Clarine was about to open her mouth to reply, a self-satisfied look on her face, but then suddenly the door to the drawing room swung open and a familiar ginger head poked it’s way in.

“Oh, Wolt!” said Roy, his eyes lighting up at the sight of him. “There you are. What are you all doing in here?”

“Hello, Lord Roy,” said Klein, and Wolt couldn’t help but feel grateful in that moment. His brain seemed to have shorted out when Roy suddenly appeared, and it was apparent that no one else was going to say anything either. “We’re just discussing last night’s party. Did you sleep well?”

For a moment Roy's expression seemed to have gone a bit blank when Klein had started talking, but then he grinned apologetically at the mention of the previous night’s events and nodded.

“Like the dead,” he replied. “I fell asleep the second I hit the pillow, and I’m afraid that I slept in a bit too long this morning.”

Everyone in the room turned to stare at Wolt then, Roy in expectation and the others in varying degrees of confusion, doubt, and concern. Wolt was amazed that his face could burn even more than it already had, but lately it seemed that many things were determined to surprise him.

“Wolt,” Roy continued, his face once again bright and open. “I’m preparing to question our guest in the dungeons and need some help in my study. Would you be available?”

“Of course, Master Roy,” Wolt said, and he gave one last embarrassed, pleading look to the others before leaving follow his lord to his quarters.

\--

Wolt felt like he was going crazy. Last night _hadn’t_ been a dream. Had it? He replayed the memory over in his head as they walked, tried to remember every touch and feeling. He's had dreams before that felt real in the moment, but after he'd awoken it was always clear it hadn't been real. This was different. He hadn't really been able to sleep since it happened, either.

Besides, Wolt thought. He's had tons of dreams about Master Roy. Why would this be the one out of all of them that stopped at just kissing?

When they reach the study Roy entered first, and when Wolt followed and shut the door behind him, he suddenly found himself pushed back against the heavy wood, his lord's arms braced on either side of him.

Roy smelled like ink and cloves and citrus, and he gave a shuddering sigh as he pressed himself against Wolt.

"I'm sorry I lied," he murmured. "To Klein, I mean. I'm not ashamed of you or anything. I'm just afraid that if anyone found out that they would try to take you away from me." Roy pulled back for a moment to meet his friend's confused gaze, his eyes full of pain. "I couldn't stand that, Wolt. You're _ mine. _"

Wolt didn't know what to say, didn't know what to _ do, _and so all he was able to meekly spit out was a strangled, "I am?"

Roy smiled then, an amused laugh bubbling out of him as if Wolt had said something charmingly witty or clever.

"Of course you are. And I'm yours, too. I've seen the way you look at me, you know. That smile you keep just for me."

Wolt's mouth suddenly went very dry. Had he been too obvious? Or was the powder twisting his master's memory into a new, convenient narrative?

(Lilina, had she been there for that trail of thought, would argue for the former--but she wasn't, and couldn't, so that was neither here nor there.)

"I want to keep it for myself," Roy continued, "your smile, I mean." And his fond look dropped into something darker, something hungrier, as his eyes searched Wolt's face. "I won't let anyone else have it."

...Well, then.

So, obviously, Lord Roy wasn't in his right mind. The Roy he knew would never say these things to him, never look at him like this. He wouldn't pin him to his study door and he wouldn’t claim him like he was a piece of property. Wolt had to put a stop to this. Now.

"Lord Roy," he began, but he was quickly interrupted with another gentle laugh from his friend.

"You look so flustered," Roy said, mirth shining in his eyes, and Wolt briefly wondered if this was the part where Roy backed up and told him it was all just an elaborate joke. Instead, the redhead absently started to play with the opening of Wolt's tunic, a sly smile dancing on his lips.

"You were never this shy whenever we flirted before," he continued, and Wolt wondered where he could of possibly been for _ that _particular milestone. "Is it because our relationship's been picking up lately? You're so _ cute _ when you're flustered."

His hands fall to Wolt's waist, and Roy leans up to press their foreheads together.

"I'm sorry if we're going a little fast, but for some reason I just can't wait anymore. I know you understand."

"I do?" Wolt asked, his voice a little higher and shakier than he would like. Roy nodded, and he dropped his face down to nuzzle in the crook of Wolt's neck.

"Mm," he said. His hands began to toy with the buckle of Wolt's belt, then, and he lifted his head to ghost his lips along the shell of the other's ear.

"You know, they're not expecting us down in the dungeons 'till after lunch. We have some time..."

In that moment, what Wolt had wanted to say was, "Lord Roy, I'm flattered, but this is inappropriate. You are obviously under the influence of some kind of weird magic, and I respect you far too much to take advantage of you in your time of need. Please excuse me."

What he actually said was, "I uh, I need to go water the dogs."

"...Water the dogs?" Roy repeated.

"Yes. I mean, walk the--wash the--um," Wolt groped desperately behind himself to find the door handle, floundering until finally his hand met cold brass. "You know. _ Chores. _"

At that Wolt slipped out of his friend's arms, sidled his way out of the room, and quickly shut the heavy door on Roy's bewildered face before making his escape.

It was probably the fastest that Wolt had ever run in his life, and he'd literally been chased by a wyvern once.

\--

Eventually, Wolt found himself sitting on a stone bench overlooking the gardens, catching his breath and feeling his heart thundering in his ears. He didn’t know how or when he got there, but he was glad that his feet led him outside at least. 

Wolt thought--no, _ knew-- _that if he’d stayed in that room for one more minute that he would of passed out at best, and at worst...

Well. He would have never been able to forgive himself.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, feeling the cool midday breeze against his too-hot skin and watching the trees sway, but eventually he felt someone take a seat beside him on the bench.

“It really is lovely out,” said Klein politely. Out of the corner of his eye Wolt watched as the older man loosely crossed one leg over the other, his hands lightly folded on top. “What did Lord Roy have to say, then?”

Wolt said nothing. He just continued to watch the garden. He could see the maze off in the distance, and a few lesser servants were running to and from, collecting up the last of the remnants from the party. Klein smiled faintly at him, and Wolt suddenly remembered why he’d had that crush all those years ago.

“I won’t laugh,” Klein offered kindly. “I’ve noticed Roy being strange as well, if that makes you feel better.”

“You have?”

“Mm,” He nodded. “He was strangely cold all during breakfast. He would be perfectly jovial to everyone else, but the moment he’d turn to me there’d be steel in his eyes.” The blond leaned forward a bit to try and catch the other’s gaze. “I don’t think you’re mistaken when you say he’s being out of character. You, of all people, would know.”

Wolt hesitated for a moment, and Klein watched patiently, as if waiting for a small child to summon up the courage to tell him their bad dream.

Finally, Wolt said, “He admitted that he kissed me.”

The other man nodded.

“And… I think he was going to again.” That wasn't a _lie_, really. Just not the entirety of it. Wolt narrowed his eyes, still staring out into the middle distance. “He was acting like I belonged to him. It was…”

“Uncomfortable?” offered Klein.

“..._Terrifying._ I think I might of been scared of him for a moment, Lord Klein.”

Klein hummed, following Wolt’s line of sight.

“Don’t look,” he said, “but he’s watching us. He’s been watching since before I sat down.”

Wolt swallowed thickly. Had Roy really been watching all this time? It bothered him more than he thought it should.

“Do you mind if I try something?”

Wolt nodded.

Klein moved closer to him, then. Not quite close enough to touch, but enough that he didn’t have to quite lean over when he whispered in Wolt’s ear. It was strangely intimate, and despite himself Wolt felt a brief flutter in his chest. Klein was, after all, still very handsome.

“I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable,” Klein whispered, “but before you go you must know that I believe you.”

“Go?” asked Wolt, but then there was a noise behind them and the familiar sound of someone calling his name.

Wolt turned around to see Roy leaning out one of the windows on the second floor, his eyebrows furrowed into a frown. Was he cross at him for running out on him like that? Wolt remembered the confused expression that had been on his face when he left, and he felt a surge of guilt in his stomach. Had he hurt his feelings? He hadn't meant to.

“Come here for a moment, would you?” Roy called.

Wolt stared uneasily for a second before sighing. He stood up; it was, after all, his duty.

“Would you like me to come with you?” Klein offered.

Wolt shook his head. He knew that Klein was concerned, but--

But that was still his Roy. No matter how strangely he was acting, he thought, he was still Roy. And Wolt knew that Roy would never really hurt him, magic or not.

When Wolt went inside Roy had come down to meet him. Immediately, the lord took his hand in his own gently, and he looked at him with such remorse that for a moment Wolt forgot all about the earl and the powder.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Roy said. “I can go slow. Please don’t hate me, Wolt. Please.”

Wolt's heart melted instantly, and he gave his friend a consoling smile.

“You know I could never hate you,” he replied, and Roy smiled back brilliantly.

“Will you come to talk to the Earl with me?”

“Of course, Master Roy. I’d go with you to the ends of the earth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wolt: ||flirts with Roy||  
Roy: ||flirts back||  
Wolt:  



	3. In which Klein better fucking *watch himself*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roy what the fuck are you doing  
What the fuck am I doing  
Not happy with the pacing of this chapter but it's not like the quality of my work can decline lmao

Count Agios, by all accounts, was one of the most disagreeable men to ever live in Pherae, and as Roy and Wolt entered the holding cells proper he seemed determined to prove it.

“There!” The old man forced his arm through the bars of his cell, pointing at Wolt as he yelled. “That’s who should be locked up! This man _ attacked _ me--!”

“Yes, we’ve all heard that rumour,” Lance interrupted dismissively. “We might even believe it if we didn’t have a witness.” 

The knight was sitting in a wooden chair that’d been placed in front of the earl’s cell, his armour discarded, and Wolt could tell from the way that his knee bounced up and down that he was getting frustrated. He must of been sitting there for hours, and he looked none the better for it.

Agios, for the most part, looked both flabbergasted and affronted. 

“You’d believe a _ servant _ over me?” he asked crossly. “A commoner?”

“I’d believe a rabid wolf over someone who’s been caught slipping things into my drink,” replied Roy. The young lord made his way to stand beside Lance’s chair, Wolt trailing behind him like a duckling. “What’s he saying, then, Lance?”

“Not much, I’m afraid.” Lance rubbed his hand across his eyes, his face exhausted. “He does seem fond of telling us how much land he owns, though.”

The elderly nobleman huffed, offended, and the top of his balding head shone with sweat in the dim candle light. Wolt took the chance to get a good look at him; he was a thin old man, just taller than Roy, and again Wolt felt a twinge of regret for slamming him into the bushes. He was still wearing his clothes from the night before, and the deep burgundy silk of his coat seemed slept in and wrinkled beyond saving.

“Good _ sir _ ,” the man said angrily. “I’ll have you know that I am in possession of an _ earldom! _ My family has been entrusted with our county for _ generations--” _

“Very enlightening,” said Lance wearily. He gave Roy and Wolt a look that spoke volumes about the last few hours he had spent with their guest. “And what of your sly addition to m’lord’s wine, then? I won’t ask you again.”

Agios’ face turned as red as his coat as he gripped the bars of his cell, and if Wolt hadn’t known better he would have sworn that the old man’s knuckles could of torn right through the skin.

“I keep telling you, I did no such thing!” he insisted. “That you’d take the word of this--well--low-born _ riffraff _ so readily!” He looked to Roy imploringly then, the disbelief plain on his face. “My lord, surely you’re not as foolish as that.”

“Surely,” said Roy dryly.

“Release me,” Agios continued, “and we’ll consider this all in the past.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, m'lord. I only ask that I be allowed to punish the real villain personally. After all, who’s to say this cur is not the one to truly tamper with your drink?”

The nobleman glared at Wolt pointedly as he spoke, his lip curling, and Lance glanced at his lord before visibly wincing. 

Roy’s eyes had been growing less and less patient the more the nobleman had talked, and his expression went ice cold at the accusation. Wolt knew instantly that the earl had, for lack of a better term, fucked up.

“Who’s to say, indeed,” Roy repeated. “Maybe a few more nights in your cell will make things clearer, Lord Agios. Wolt, let’s leave him to it.”

Obediently, Wolt followed his lord out of the cells, but not before catching the look of dawning horror blossoming on the old man’s face.

It seemed that the other shoe had finally dropped. 

\--

They were in the courtyard when Roy finally slowed his angry, brisk pace, and Wolt could practically see the steam coming off of him as he kicked at a rock in the path.

“That _ bastard _,” he muttered, and Wolt could see the corner of his mouth twitch in the way it always did when Roy was about to lose his temper. “Where does he get off? High-born, pretentious, son of--”

“Master Roy,” Wolt interrupted. “Let’s go for a walk in the hedge.”

Roy paused in his abuse of the cobblestones and looked up at him, a small, fond smile creeping back onto his face.

“You always know how to calm me down, don’t you?” he sighed, and without another word Roy led the two of them to the great big maze of hedges where this all began.

The labyrinth was just as green and looming as it had always been, and they stopped just short of the entrance. Every last trace of the party had been pulled up and put away, and it almost seemed like it hadn’t even happened at all. Roy gave a soft, introspective hum. 

“I don’t know what it is,” the redhead mused, “but getting lost in here always calms me down, even if I know exactly how to get back out.”

“Is that even being lost, then?” asked Wolt.

Roy looked back at his archer then, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Lost is a state of mind, my dear sir,” he explained wisely, and in one swift moment he grabbed the other’s hand and darted headfirst into the opening of the foliage.

Wolt, despite himself, laughed as they ran. This hadn’t been an unfamiliar sight, once upon a time. Roy had always loved the hedge maze. When they were small they had spent entire afternoons there, racing each other to the middle and exploring the twists and turns of the place until they’d both had every path memorized. Once, for Roy’s birthday, Lord Eliwood had the gardeners rearrange the walls so that they could explore it anew. Wolt had promptly gotten stuck in the branches after trying to climb his way to the finish, and Roy had laughed so hard when he found him that he almost threw up.

The memory pulled at Wolt’s heart fondly, and almost out of habit he shoved the feeling deep down into the back of his mind.

Their roles, he knew, had changed long ago. Roy no longer needed a playmate, so instead Wolt had decided that he’d become whatever he had to in order to stay with him. He’d become whoever he had to.

It didn’t matter what he had to leave behind, as long as he himself wasn’t.

Roy didn’t stop running until they were in the middle of the labyrinth together, breathless and red-faced from laughing. There was a filigree wrought-iron bench there, and facing it was a small, intricate stone statue of a dancer twirling elegantly on a pedestal. Roy would never tell him why, but when they were young he’d look at it with such a melancholy air that Wolt had always wondered if it was based on someone he knew.

Roy fell onto the bench heavily, his hand still holding Wolt’s, and he pulled the other down to sit beside him as he laughed. 

“It’s been too long since we’ve been here together,” he said, all stress seemingly forgotten.

“Unfortunately,” joked Wolt, “we were here just last night. Is your memory starting to go? That’s definitely the powder. Poor Marquis Pherae, senile at twenty one!”

Roy bumped Wolt’s shoulder with his own, his face posed into a playful, faux-indignant pout.

“That doesn’t count,” he argued. “We didn’t even make it to the middle.”

Wolt hummed noncommittally, picking a bright green leaf out of his lord’s hair. Roy squeezed Wolt’s hand fondly, lacing together their fingers, and Wolt did his best to ignore how nice it felt.

“Sorry,” Roy said. “For being so angry before.”

“It’s unlike you to lose your temper like that,” agreed Wolt, cautiously. Maybe it was the intimate hand holding, or Roy’s tone, or maybe the memory of the last time they were this alone and secluded together, but suddenly Wolt was strangely uncomfortable. Roy sighed and leaned against his friend, and Wolt felt a bit of vindication as the other man nestled his head on his shoulder.

His hair smelled like citrus and soapwort.

“I don’t really know what it is,” Roy said, “but when that man was talking like that about you, I just saw red. Even thinking about it now, I want to throttle him.” He paused then, a concerned frown marring his brow.

“Does that make me irresponsible?” he asked, concerned. “Whether or not he’s guilty, I need to hear what he has to say. I need to be objective. But ...”

He trailed off, uncertain. There was a moment, then, where Roy's expression went all blank and empty before he straightened up suddenly, that strange, dark look replacing it.

“But the way he talked down at you,” he continued, his voice sounding odd, “and used you like a scapegoat. Like you were trash, or like you weren’t even human, saying that you were just a servant--” The corner of Roy’s mouth once again started to twitch, and the grip on Wolt’s hand turned from firm to almost painfully harsh. When their eyes met, Roy’s held an expression that Wolt hadn’t seen since they were both sixteen and staring down a king in a castle of blood.

“That itself,” Roy said, “is enough to keep him down there until he’s nothing but rot.”

Well. If that wasn’t a giant red flag, then Wolt didn't know what colours were.

“You know,” Roy said curiously, his demeanor changing rapidly enough to inflict whiplash, “I’ve always wanted to kiss you here.”

Wolt stared for a moment, a little dumbfounded at the turn in conversation.

“Uh?”

“I used to think about it a lot, actually.” Roy looked to him then, his eyes apologetic but shining with hope. “I know you said you felt rushed earlier, but maybe this could be our next step? Just a kiss, whenever you feel ready.” Gently, he untangled his hand and placed it on Wolt’s knee. “And maybe later, once you’re more comfortable, then…”

His hand moved up higher, to his thigh, and Wolt couldn’t really hear the rest of what Roy had to say over all the screaming he was doing inside his own head. 

\--

That evening, Wolt locked his door, threw himself into bed, and immediately let himself sink into the dream that had been lapping at his brain all evening like gentle ocean waves. 

He was beyond tired, beyond stressed, and after two hours of avoiding Roy and looking for Lady Lilina he’d finally decided to give in to his exhaustion and sleep. If he was going to help Lord Roy--and holy _ hell _ , did Roy need help, quickly--he had to have some semblance of a functioning brain. Now if only, he thought as he drifted off, the others could be convinced without telling them all _ that. _Things would be much, much better.

Luck, it turned out, was a strange, double edged sword, and Wolt had always been terrible with those.

In his dream, Wolt was shooting arrows in a field and Roy was sitting behind him, eating apples from a bushel. His dogs were there, too, all trying to jump up and catch the arrows out of mid air. Lilina, he knew, was off picking apples for the bushel, though he couldn’t see her. Wolt felt anxious, the way you do in dreams when something bad may or may not happen and you can't stop what you're doing, and behind him Roy said something as one of his dogs did a little flip in the air. Another jumped on his chest, and Roy laughed.

Gradually and all at once, exactly as the paws hit his chest, he felt himself being pushed back from the apples and his dogs and his Roy. There's a strange, brief wave of vertigo as his head rested on his pillow, and Wolt sighed unhappily.

“Wolt?” Roy’s voice seemed a little far away for a moment, hazy, before coming back into clarity as Wolt blinked his eyes open. Maybe his Roy had stayed afterall. “Wolt, are you awake?”

There was light streaming through his shutters, lighting up auburn hair like a blaze, and Wolt groaned. He'd only closed his eyes for a minute, and it’d been pitch dark when he’d laid down. This had to be one of those dreams where you think you wake up but are actually still dreaming, he thought.

“Yep,” he replied, already slipping back into his nice, warm, first dream. “Wide awake.”

Roy laughed lightly, and Wolt sighed again as he felt hair being brushed from his face.

“You shouldn’t say yes if you’re just going to start snoring again. Look at me?”

“Mmmn.” Wolt opened his eyes again. Roy was still glowing brilliantly in the mid-morning sunshine, and he watched Wolt with fond, amused eyes.

“It’s almost ten,” Roy said. “This is my first time waking up before you, you know.”

Usually, hearing that he’d slept in almost four hours over schedule would send Wolt into a rushed state of panic; as it was, he just slung an arm over his eyes and groaned.

“Don’t go back to bed,” said Roy.

“I haven’t woken up yet in the first place,” Wolt mumbled.

Roy laughed again, gently.

“Is that so? Can I kiss you, then?”

“Y’r not supposed to.”

“But can I?”

“Sure,” Wolt murmured, almost asleep once again. "I'd like that." It was okay to kiss Roy in a dream. In a dream, Roy always wanted it just as much as Wolt did. In a dream, Roy liked him back on his own.

So Roy kissed him, and Wolt kissed back, and as Roy carded his hand through his friend’s hair and sighed into his mouth Wolt suddenly realized that he hadn't fallen back to sleep at all.

_ Obviously _.

“Uh--”

Wolt stuttered as he backed out from the kiss, and Roy smiled at him, longing glimmering in his eyes.

“Maybe we can stay in bed today after all,” he said, climbing onto the mattress, and he ducked his head down to kiss at the side of Wolt’s neck.

“Wait--” Wolt half heartedly placed a hand on Roy’s shoulder, his eyes darting to his still-closed chamber door. “How did you--I locked the--didn’t I?”

Roy just hummed in response, his teeth grazing the other’s skin. A strangled sounded noise caught itself in his throat, and Wolt had never been more convinced that the universe not only hated him but was personally aiming to torture him.

“Hold on--Roy--”

Roy gasped in a shakey, breathless laugh, and he pulled back, grinning as if drunk. 

"That's right," he said. His eyes had grown dark again. "Just Roy. Just _ us _."

He leaned down to kiss Wolt again, but suddenly stopped short. He took a moment to gaze into his friend's eyes, searching, and frowned. 

"Too quick?" He asked gently. Wolt didn't trust himself not to say 'no, please, go on if you'd like,' so he just nodded his head as frantically as his pillow would let him.

Roy smiled sheepishly and gave a little laugh.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Come eat some--well, I suppose it's brunch now. But you'll come and eat some brunch with me, won't you?"

"Give me a moment," Wolt managed to wheeze, and Roy nodded happily, apparently taking his friend's strained expression as a yes.

"I'll be waiting in the solarium, then," Roy said before leaving. The door closed behind him gently, and Wolt could faintly hear him humming as he made his way down the hall.

After the humming had faded, Wolt stared up at the ceiling for a long, quiet moment as he collected his thoughts.

Wolt wasn't a violent person under normal circumstances, really, but he decided right then that strangling Count Agios in his sleep would be the most satisfying thing he could ever hope to do with his life.

\--

To Wolt's great relief and Roy's great chagrin, the lord's guests had decided to join them in the solarium for the morning. Wolt smiled uneasily at them all, and Lilina gave him a fond but worried look in return.

“Good morning, Wolt,” she said. “I hope you were able to sleep well last night?”

She sounded like she already knew the answer, and Wolt didn’t blame her. When he’d finally hauled himself up to get dressed and wash his face (and do_ absolutely nothing else, excuse you _) he’d been so startled by how tired and ragged the man looking back at him in the mirror had appeared that he almost dropped the wash pitcher.

Wolt opened his mouth to reply to her and greet their guests, but he was interrupted by a sudden crash. Clarine, it seemed, had dropped her teacup.

“What,” she gaped, “are _ those?! _”

She’d stood up and extended a shaky finger to point accusingly at Wolt from across the room as she spoke, and the archer frowned in confusion as he put a hand up to touch at where she’d been pointing. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. Neither side of his neck really felt any different, but Clarine was still staring at him incredulously. Roy said nothing, but there was a small, self satisfied smile on his face as he sipped his tea. Wolt looked to Lilina, who suddenly started choking on her toast, and then to Klein. The older man had been ready to scold his sister but whatever Clarine had been making a fuss about seemed to have left him speechless.

Suddenly, Wolt had a realization.

“Oh my god,” he said quietly. Roy hadn’t just been trying to kiss his neck that morning.

_ He’d left marks. _

For the first and last time in his life, Wolt connected the words ‘_ Roy _ ’ and ‘ _ that son of a bitch _’ together in his mind.

Lilina took a deep, panicked gulp of her tea to clear her airway before staring, dumbfounded, at the two of them.

No one spoke for a long, excruciating minute. Roy, for his part, still looked very pleased with himself.

After a moment Klein laughed a bit awkwardly, breaking the stunned silence that had followed Clarine’s outburst.

“Well,” he said, and there was an uncharacteristic nervousness lacing his voice. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

There was a sharp clink of china, then, and the annoyance in Roy’s otherwise polite smile was so evident that Clarine physically recoiled. Feverishly, Wolt thought back to the moment Roy had in the middle of the hedge maze the day before and wondered just how thin his temper had been stretched by the blue powder. 

“Lord Klein,” said Roy, and Lilina visibly flinched at the chill in his voice. “Shall we go for a walk?”

“Just the two of us, I assume?” Klein answered evenly. “Lead on, then, Lord Roy.”

Wolt doubted that he’d ever seen a braver man in his life.

The tension that filled the room didn’t leave with the two men, and a few seconds after the door shut a wide-eyed Lilina looked around, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like ‘What the HELL.’

Clarine coughed.

“I… wow,” she said. “I suppose that you weren’t as deluded as I thought you were, Wolt.”

“Mmhmm,” replied Wolt, his face buried in his hands. If an arrow were to come flying through the window to land in his skull at that moment, he would have welcomed it gladly.

“I can’t believe he just talked to my brother like that,” Clarine continued. The shock had left her face and was slowly being replaced by a kind of righteous anger. “The nerve of him. Thinking he can--” 

“I think,” interrupted Lilina, “that once they return we should all go and talk to our friend downstairs again.”

Wolt nodded numbly as Clarine huffed. He’d rather not talk to anyone ever again after all of that, but time stands still for no man’s embarrassment.

He feels a hand touch his arm, and he looks up reluctantly to meet Lilina’s firm gaze.

“Wolt,” she said. “I know you want to protect Roy, but--”

“It’s not--” Wolt started, but Lilina cut him off swiftly.

“_But, _” she continued firmly, “this has obviously gone too far. You need to tell us everything.”

Wolt didn’t say anything. Really, all he could do was stare at the space on the floor where Clarine’s teacup still lay in wet, sticky pieces. Eventually, he swallowed.

“What makes you think there’s anything else to tell?” he asked quietly.

“Besides, uh, _ everything? _” To his surprise, it’s Clarine who answers. She had been sitting in the background, awkwardly watching them as they spoke, and Wolt had almost forgotten that she was there. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, you dolt, and even I can tell that you’re becoming more and more distressed.” Clarine glared petulantly and stubbornly crossed her arms, but her eyes softened with concern as she looked at him. 

“What has he been doing when we’re not around to get you like this?”

This time, Wolt truly couldn’t answer. It wasn’t even much, he knew. Nothing horrible. But when he tried to speak the words just got stuck in his throat, and he swallowed again heavily to try and unstick them.

It wasn’t just about what Roy was doing. It was how easy it would be to not stop him. How could he tell them that? How could he admit to being so selfish?

In the corner of the room, the grandfather clock loudly ticked away as Lilina reached up and held his hand.

It’s not long until the door to the sunroom opens again, and though Wolt still didn’t look up he knew that Klein had returned alone.

“Well,” Klein breathes. “That was… something.” 

“What happened?” demanded Clarine. She immediately abandoned her concern for Wolt at the sight of her brother, and she hurried across the room to meet him. 

Klein clicked his tongue and put a hand on his chin while he tried to think of the right words to describe his experience.

“We... cannot leave them alone together anymore,” he said firmly. “_ Ever.” _

In that moment, Wolt thought that Klein just might be the smartest, saintliest, most benevolent man in all of Elibe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klein: ||breathes||  
Roy:
> 
> kids don't kiss ur crush when they're half asleep I don't care if they give the go ahead they're asleep don't do it it's not cool


	4. In which things take a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um... heads up, this chapter is where we start to earn the 'M' rating. If dubcon and ignored consent is a distressing topic for you, please skip the second chunk of this chapter. Stay safe.

“We need to tell Sir Lance and Sir Alen.”

Wolt looked at Lilina as if she had grown an extra head.

“Please,” he said, “tell me you’re not serious.”

The three of them were walking through the halls that led to Roy’s office, Klein pointedly staying on Lilina’s other side, and the queen gave Wolt a firm look.

“I’m literally on my way to stop Roy from causing an international incident,” she said. “I think it’s time to get the manor’s marshall and stewart involved.”

Truthfully, Wolt was never more thankful that Marcus had decided to retire to the countryside instead of staying to run the main estate. He didn’t think he could look the man in the eye after something like this. He wasn’t sure he could look  _ himself _ in the eyes after this.

“She has a point,” said Klein. “We’ll be needing the help. I have to say, though, I never expected Lord Roy to be the type to threaten someone so casually.”

Wolt and Lilina shared a look--one that, to them, plainly said ‘You’ve never tried to take the last slice of Rebecca’s apple pie, then’,--before all three of them stopped in front of a familiar, heavy oak door.

“You should probably go join Lady Clarine,” Lilina said, and she raised her hand to knock on the solid wood of the door. “I have the feeling that seeing you and Lord Klein in the same space together won’t be doing Roy’s current temper any favours.” 

And that was how Wolt found himself escorting a peevish Clarine down into the dungeons of Castle Pherae. Despite her earlier show of compassion, at the moment Wolt suspected that if he said the wrong thing that she might try and lock him into one of the cells. She hadn't taken to being left out of Lilina's peace talks very well.

"I'm not stupid, you know," she grumbled as Wolt held the door for her. "I know they just sent me down here to get me out of the way. I’m eighteen years old. When will Klein realize that I'm a grown adult already?"

Maybe, Wolt thought privately, when your first reaction to the idea of an intervention isn't to suggest hanging the guilty party from the ceiling by their toes.

The guard at the entrance of the holding cells bowed as they passed by. Lance was still sitting in the same chair as the day before, his face fully buried in one hand in exasperation, but now Alen was standing beside him. The crimson knight had a look of pure, disbelieving boredom on his face, and Wolt felt a deep feeling of sympathy for his brother-in-arms. The earl, it seemed, was being just as forthcoming and charming as when Roy had visited.

“I know we’re not supposed to torture prisoners,” Alen asked Lance, “but do you think Lord Roy’d let us make an exception?”

“If only,” Lance replied, his voice muffled by the palm of his hand. Agios sputtered, his face turning red again.

“How  _ dare _ you--!”

The earl was cut off as Clarine loudly cleared her throat, and all three men turned their heads to look at them.

“Gentlemen,” she said, her tone as cold as stone.

Politely, Lance stood from his chair, and after some nudging on his part both he and Alen bowed respectfully.

“Good morning, my lady,” he greeted, and immediately Clarine’s posture became even more prim than before. “I hope your stay here has been treating you well?”

“Sir Lance,” she returned haughtily, and Wolt realized that she was  _ blushing _ . “I don’t suppose either of you have been able to weasel the truth out of this miscreant?”

“Unfortunately not, my lady,” Lance replied, and at the same time Agio could be heard squawking out, “ _ Miscreant?! _ ”

“I have done  _ nothing! _ ” the earl insisted. “You should mind your tongue, little girl, when talking to your elders!”

Clarine’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Wolt took a very large step away from the both of them.

“ _ Excuse _ me?” she growled. Count Agios must of been born without any sense of danger or self-preservation, because he simply waved his hand dismissively in response. 

“Honestly, I’m astounded,” he continued obliviously. “The gall of you people, locking up a noble on the word of, what are you, a manservant? And for no reason!”

“You’re denying what you did, then?”

“What I  _ did _ ?” Agios exclaimed. “This is what I’m talking about, Madame. You accuse me, yet you have no evidence! This entire farce is nothing but a childish mockery.”

“No evidence?” repeated Clarine crossly. “Are you playing dumb, or are you honestly just a daft?”

The earl looked down his nose at her in disdain.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but I am not the one throwing around allegations without proof!”

“And what about this, then?” demanded Clarine, and Wolt found himself choked as she grabbed him roughly by the neck of his livelry. “Isn’t this proof enough?”

With one smooth movement, Clarine popped off the first fastener of Wolt’s tunic and pulled the collar open to his shoulders, baring the marks for all to see. Count Agios stared at them for a moment, bewildered.

"What," he asked, "am I supposed to be looking at?"

Lance made an odd choking noise as his partner started to laugh.

“Oh my gods.” Alen’s eyes were almost as wide as the shit-eating grin on his face as he took in the scene. “Are those  _ hickies _ ? They  _ are!”  _ He turned to his fellow knight with the expression of a proud mother, his hand pressed against his heart. “Our little boy has finally become a man, Lance! Do you think this might count towards the spread bet?”

The smack he received from his compatriot was, in everyone’s opinion, well deserved.

“And what,” demanded Agios, “do these disgusting marks have to do with me?”

“These ‘disgusting marks’,” replied Clarine, “are the direct results of  _ your  _ disgusting powder. They certainly weren’t put there with permission.” She side-eyed Wolt at that, her expression annoyed. “And I can’t imagine Lord Roy being keen to apply them otherwise.”

Ouch. Wolt’s face flushed as Alen outright started to chortle and clap. Agios looked around nervously.

“That’s purely circumstantial at best,” he argued, but he shut his mouth quickly when Lance groaned.

“Come off it, won’t you?” the knight replied, frustrated. “Whether you admit it or not, you’re the one who’s going to be paying for this. If you actually tell the truth, you might earn yourself a little grace.”

Earl Agios was quiet for a long, long moment as he considered this.

“... Well,” he started haltingly. “You must hear me out; I did  _ not _ intend for  _ that _ to happen.”

The reaction from the room was immediate, and Wolt thought that he’d heard Clarine’s neck crack from how quickly she turned her head to glare at their prisoner.

“Really?” replied Clarine sarcastically, “And what exactly did you  _ intend _ then, you old pervert!”

“P-pervert?!” the old man stuttered, his face growing redder and redder. “Madame, I can assure you that I am no  _ sodomite! _ ”

He spat the word at Wolt’s feet, glaring pointedly at him at him with disgust. For a change that day, Wolt could feel the blood drain from his face.

He’s just trying to distract us all from his situation, Wolt told himself. No one actually thinks that. No one knows.

Wolt, it should be noted, had never been the best at reading those around him.

Alen, no longer jovial, took a quick glance at Wolt and frowned.

“Yeah, no,” he said, and he kicked at the bars of Agios’ cell so suddenly that the old man jumped. The glare that he gave the earl was, at minimum, scathing. “You don’t exactly get to judge anyone else here, dumbass. What was it that you slipped him, and why?”

Agios muttered something under his breath sullenly, and Alen kicked at the cell again.

“Can’t hear you, old man.”

“I  _ said, _ ” Agios ground out, “that I was just looking to gain a bit of influence. Maybe introduce one of my daughters. Perhaps make a match.” He huffed, smoothing his hand along what was left of his snowy white hair, visibly at a loss. “When the apothecary said he’d be hanging on to my every word, I didn’t even imagine that she meant like  _ this _ .”

Clarine, for lack of a better term, looked absolutely done with the situation.

“That,” she said, “is the dumbest thing I have ever heard anyone say.”

In agreement, Lance gave the earl a determined glare.

“I think we can assume,” he started, “that you have no idea what was in the love potion you gave our sire.”

Agios nodded eagerly, and despite himself Wolt felt his stomach drop.

Love potion. He knew this all along, had assumed it from the first kiss, but hearing the confirmation that Roy’s affections were induced still hurt. Somehow, a tiny, stupid part of Wolt’s mind must have held onto hope without him even realizing it.

Not for the first time in his life, Wolt realized just how much of a miserable fool he was.

“I think it’s also fair to assume,” Lance continued sternly, oblivious to Wolt’s inner strife, “that the apothecary you had purchased it from will know the exact ingredients used.”

The earl nodded again, a little less enthusiastic this time.

“And you know where the apothecary is.”

“Well,” said Agios.

“What we’re saying,” Alen finished, “is that if your don’t tell us where you bought it we’re going to take your teeth.”

The strange choking sound that Agios made at that was, at least, oddly satisfying.

\--

For the first time in days, Wolt felt a bittersweet sense of relief as he made his way through the halls of the manor. While Count Agios had refused to disclose the location of the apothecary without his freedom guaranteed, they had finally made leeway. Yes, the men he looked up to finding out about Roy’s condition was mortifying, but now they had a stepping stone. Clarine was already trying to research an antidote, and either way the knights were sure to squeeze the truth out of the earl sooner or later.

Despite his heartbreak, things were finally starting to look up. Roy was going to be put back to normal. Everything was going to calm down.

Suddenly, Wolt felt strong, calloused hands grab at his arm, and he soon found himself wrenched backwards into a nearby closet. 

He was not too big to admit that the noise he made as he was pulled might not of been the most manly of sounds.

“Shhh!” hushed a now too-familiar voice. Wolt cursed violently in his head.

What happened to ‘We can’t leave them alone together’, Klein?!

For a moment Roy held deathly still, listening, until finally sighing and turning to his friend in the dark.

“Sorry,” he whispered, his face far too close. With some despair, Wolt realized that he was getting more and more used to these ridiculously intimate situations.

“So, I think I might have made a mistake earlier.”

“Oh?” asked Wolt dryly, annoyance rising in his voice. “Was it biting my neck? Or was it  _ threatening to shove an important diplomat out of a window _ if he didn’t stop talking to me?”

Even in the dark, cramped closet, Wolt could see the wince on Roy’s face.

“Ah,” Roy replied. “So you’ve heard about that.”

“Oh, yes,” said Wolt. “I heard all about it when while we were talking Clarine down from  _ killing you _ . What in the world were you thinking?”

Quickly, Roy clamped his hand over Wolt’s mouth. Foot steps had started coming towards them from down the hall, and they both stayed quiet for a moment as they passed.

Wolt did not need an unsuspecting maid to stumble in on them right now.

Once the hallway had quieted again, Roy turned to his friend with a remorseful smile, his hand falling to Wolt’s shoulder.

“I am sorry, though,” he continued. “I shouldn’t of marked you without asking first.”

“You  _ think?!” _

“I know you’re angry.” Roy started to chew on his own lip, then, and though Wolt was indeed still pissed he could feel his aggression melt away a little at the regret in the other’s face. “And you have every right to be. I basically outed us to everyone. I messed everything up.”

Roy’s expression went blank as he spoke, and Wolt’s annoyance dissipated as he remembered the kind of position the two of them were in.

“But I promise I’m going to fix it.”

“Lord Roy,” Wolt started cautiously. “Why are we hiding in this closet?”

“They’re trying to keep us apart.” Roy’s eyes went dark in that strange, intense way again, and immediately Wolt found himself reaching for the door knob. “They basically told me as much earlier. I was right. Even Lilina wants to take you away from me.”

Roy grabbed Wolt’s hand, pulling it away from the door and holding it tight.

“But don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not gonna let them. I’m not.”

“Lord Roy,” said Wolt, nervous. “I think you should calm down.”

Roy shook his head, pressing Wolt against the wall of the cupboard as he swallowed thickly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, desperation laced in his tone. “I’m sorry if I’m scaring you. I don’t mean to. I just… I can’t lose you. I won’t. I can’t stop feeling this way.”

Roy’s grip on Wolt’s wrist and shoulder tightened enough to become almost painful, and Wolt grabbed at Roy’s arm with his free hand. He could feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck, and he wondered wildly if a maid walking in on them would really be all that bad.

“I love you,” Roy continued, seemingly oblivious to his friend’s discomfort, and Wolt’s heart stung bitterly. “I love you so much, and the more I see you the worse it gets. I’d rip my heart out if you asked me to. I’d do anything.” He stared Wolt in the eyes, blue searing through green, as he paused and bit again at his lip.

“I’d kill anyone for you, Wolt, if it meant that I could just touch you.”

Wolt stared at him, his breath hitching. Distantly, he realized that he was shaking.

"I can't take this anymore," Wolt said quietly, his voice cracking with the realization. “I can’t.”

"Oh, thank the gods," replied Roy, his tone one of relief. "Neither can I."

With that, the shorter man lunged at him. Wolt’s head knocked against the wall as their mouths connected, teeth clacking together painfully, and Roy’s hands flew to his belt. 

Wolt didn’t know what to do.

He was frozen, his mind blank, and for a moment it almost felt like he wasn’t in his body at all. Then Roy moaned into his mouth and Wolt snapped back to himself, his hands gripping at the other man’s shoulders. Roy ignored the pressure, or misinterpreted it, and he undid Wolt’s buckle with one smooth tug.

Roy’s mouth was wet and hot and soft, his tongue firm, and it was  _ Roy _ , it would be so much easier to just--

No. No, no, no. He had to stop this. Roy didn’t want this. He didn’t  _ want _ this.

Wolt’s belt clinked loudly as it hit the closet floor. Roy’s hands were hot under his tunic, searing against his skin, and Wolt felt his mind race. Roy wasn’t stopping. Wolt didn’t want to hurt him. Would he have to hurt him, to get him to stop? He didn’t know what to  _ do. _

“Please,” Roy sighed. He trailed his hands, strong and warm, up to his chest and down again to linger on the waistband of his trousers. “Please, Wolt. Let me touch you. I can’t stop thinking about it. I want to taste you.” Roughly, he pressed flush against his servant, a leg slipping in between his thighs. 

“Can’t you feel me? I  _ love _ you.”

It was as if a flip switched in Wolt’s mind, then, and with a surge of adrenaline he spun them around, shoving his friend against the wall. Roy let out an undignified little ‘oof’ as his back hit the stone. 

It was the love potion. Roy didn’t actually want to touch Wolt--why would he? The heat that had been forced into Wolt’s abdomen turned to heavy, sickly disgust as Roy made a desperate keening sound, and Wolt felt the cruelty of the universe beat down upon his back.

His lord would never want this. Not from him. Definitely not like this.

“Oh,” Roy murmured quietly. He squirmed a little as Wolt held him at arm’s length to the wall. “ _ Oh _ . I never thought-- _ ha. _ ” There was a tiny sliver of light slipping through the crack in the door onto Roy’s face, and through it Wolt watched as an amazed little smile grew.

“Yeah.” Roy’s eyes glinted up at his friend, his awed smile spreading into a full grin. “Yeah, this is okay. This could work. I like it.”

Wolt didn’t know just what, exactly, ‘this’ was, and before he could ask the door to the closet was suddenly opened.

\--

Wolt had retired to his room after they were found out, which was fair, Roy thought. He must be embarrassed. Just when he’d gathered up the courage to take charge of their intimacy they were interrupted. Wolt had always been shy when it came to their relationship.

What Roy didn’t understand was why Lilina was giving him that look.

“I can see that you’re upset, Lily,” he started, “but I can’t know why until you tell me. Is it because you walked in on us? It wasn't our intention to make you uncomfortable.” 

Slowly, Lilina shook her head at him, her arms crossed and her eyes big and wet.

“I just can’t believe you,” she said. “How could you do that to him? Poor Wolt...”

“We’re adults,” he replied. Why was she being so difficult? So judgemental? She was supposed to be his friend. She was supposed to be  _ happy _ for him. “What we do with each other is our own business.”

"Roy, he was having a panic attack."

Ah. It was a misunderstanding, then.

"He was just a little nervous," Roy explained patiently. "He would've told me if he wanted to stop, don't worry. We tell each other  _ everything _ ."

Roy didn’t blame Lilina for being mistaken. She was friends with Wolt as well, of course, but she didn’t understand him the way that Roy did.  _ No one _ did. The two of them knew everything about each other. That, at least, was something that no one could take away from them. 

It meant that they were connected. It meant that no-one else could love Wolt the way that Roy did. He belonged to him.

Roy felt bad for thinking it, but all the same it was a comfort.

Lilina looked like she was about to say something, but then the door to Roy’s study swung open and two familiar faces made their way in.

“Lord Roy,” greeted Lance, and Roy nodded to him. Klein, who had followed the knight into the room, gave him a cautious smile and shared a concerned look with Lilina. It took all the self restraint he had to keep Roy from grinding his teeth at the sight of him.

“Clarine is making use of the library and Sir Alen is checking in on Wolt,” said Klein, and for a hot, jealous moment Roy wondered what, exactly, Alen was really intending to do. “Have you started discussing things yet?”

Lilina shook her head. Internally, Roy felt ashamed for his suspicions about Alen--he’d always treated Wolt like a favourite nephew at most, and above all he was loyal to Roy. He’d never betray his trust the way others would, he thought.

Lilina was also supposed to be loyal to you, said the little voice in his head, and look at her now. Siding with a homewrecker. 

It had a point. Roy decided to ignore it for the moment.

“Lord Roy,” said Lance. “It’s been brought to our attention that your behaviour has become… disconcerting, let’s say.” 

“If my behaviour is troubling you,” replied Roy stubbornly, “then maybe you should direct your attention elsewhere, Sir Lance. It’s a very simple solution.”

Lilina reached over and gently placed one of her her hands on his, and he was proud of himself for not swatting it away.

“We’re worried, Roy,” she said. “You’ve been getting more and more aggressive the longer that powder’s been in your system. You seem obsessed.”

The hair on the back of Roy’s neck prickled at the insinuation.

“This has nothing to do with that,” he said sternly.

Klein and Lance shared an infuriating look, and Lilina gave his hand what was supposed to be a comforting squeeze. He pulled it away. 

“Count Agios has admitted to putting something in your drink,” said Lance, his tone that of a mother coaxing a tantruming child. “We have ample reason to believe it was a type of love potion. You’re not yourself, m’lord.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Roy insisted. “I don’t need a love potion to feel this way. Wolt and I have always been like this.”

How dare they, the voice said. How dare they try and erase your love like this. He’s yours. He’s always been yours. Just they wait. You'll prove it.

“No offense,” said Klein, his face set in a grim, serious way. “but you basically assaulted the poor man in a cupboard today. For your sake I very much hope that this kind of behaviour  _ isn’t _ a common occurrence.”

Roy, despite himself, outright laughed.

“Of course you’d say that,” he snapped. “You don’t understand him at all. Wolt wants me just as much as I want him. I know he does.” He stared at the other man pointedly, his eyes broadcasting a warning. 

“We belong to each other,” said Roy. “and nothing will change that. Not even you.”

There was silence, then, one in which the three traitors shared a look. Roy stared on resolutely.

Eventually, Lilina cleared her throat.

“We’ve decided,” she said firmly, “that it’s in the best interest of everyone if you’re put in the care of a chaperone. Just until we can get you the antidote.” She looked Roy in the eyes, pleading, and Roy glared back.

“Please, Roy,” she said. “Don’t make me order you.”

Fine, then, Roy thought bitterly. Let them try. This didn’t change anything.

They weren’t going to keep them apart.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only Roy. Only Roy. Only Roy. Only Roy. Only Roy. Only Roy.
> 
> (on a lighter notes, this is much more rushed and shorter than I'd planned)


	5. In which Wolt finally snaps after all these years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today we continue to earn the M rating, babbys do not interact
> 
> I wrote and posted this on my phone between classes don't come for me

Wolt, for the second night in a row, could not sleep. Instead, he lay on his back under the bed clothes and mulled over why this was.

Roy had been behaving himself very well since the closet incident a few days ago. At least, as far as Wolt could tell he was. They were rarely in the same room lately; any of Wolt’s chores that required prolonged contact had been taken over by Lance.  


It wasn’t a lack of activity that was keeping him awake, though. He’d spent half the time taking his dogs out to hunt game and helping to skin the meat, and the other half was occupied by running around the library, climbing high shelves and fetching hard-to-reach, heavy old books for their guests. Clarine, for her part, seemed to be enjoying ordering him around.

It was probably the bed, he decided. Or the strange room. It wasn’t too different than his own, but the straw in the mattress hadn’t been broken in yet, and everytime he moved he could feel tiny stalks biting at him through the canvas.  


Lance had been the one to suggest the change in location. Roy was to be put under supervision, yes, but stationing guards outside his room could only be expected to work so well when they had no idea what they were actually meant to be doing. Better that the Lord had no idea where his fixation was to begin with, Lance theorized, than to try and contain him completely.

Wolt shifted uncomfortably. The lack of sleep was starting to wear down on him, but he was determined to endure.

He would, after all, do anything for Roy.

\--

Wolt needs me. Wolt needs me. Wolt needs me.

This was the thought that was beating itself into Roy's head over and over again, loud and constant as the drums in a military tattoo. A shaking hand grabbed at his chest and he swallowed thickly. His throat was dry.

It hurts, he thought. They're keeping us apart and it hurts. My heart is ripping in two. My brain is swelling and swelling and my skull is cracking and if I keep it in any more I'll die. My lungs are flooding without you. I can't breathe.

He must feel this way, too. He needs me.

The moon was high over the manor as Roy slipped through the halls. It was late enough to be suspicious, he knew, so he avoided the guards and skirted his way through the shadows. The path was so familiar it hurt.

Roy knocked, and there was no answer. The door was locked, so he slipped the pin he kept behind his ear out from his hair and kneeled down to pick it. It didn't take a second for the mechanism to click.

Wolt wasn't in his room when he entered. Roy wasn't surprised. They were still trying to keep them apart, after all, and Roy had decided that he'd play along with their tricks until they were reunited.

Miserable, he quickly undressed before crawling into his beloved's bed. He slipped in under the well-tucked sheets and wrapped himself in the old, tattered quilt that Rebecca had made more than a decade ago, pushing his face into the thin pillow.  


The bedclothes and the quilt and the mattress all smelled like Wolt. Like bee-balm leaves and bowstring wax and salt. Day old bread and spiced shaving soap, and something else that was just uniquely  _ him _ . Roy burrowed in and let himself be surrounded.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and thought of broad shoulders and strong hands. Warm, sun-kissed skin and soft, kind green irises. If he curled his legs up and pulled the blankets tight, Roy could almost pretend that Wolt was holding him. He could almost imagine his breath tickling against his ear.

Suddenly, Roy felt warm despite the too-cold sheets surrounding him, and he wrapped his arms around his knees as he let his mind wander. He thought about how Wolt's mouth and tongue had felt, about the needy little noises he'd made each time Roy had kissed him. How his skin had tasted. He thought about the way Wolt had pressed him against the wall and the nervous desire that had filled his eyes.

Roy shifted under the covers, his new found greed consuming him.

Wolt wasn't here with him, not yet, but Roy decided that this would do until he was.

\--

“Frankly, I think that this is getting ridiculous.”

Wolt blinked sharply as he straightened his back, bright spots dancing in front of his eyes.

“Hmm?” he asked.

Clarine glared at him, exasperated, as Lilina gave him a concerned look from her spot at the old oak table. They were in the library again, Wolt waiting for the next book to fetch, and somehow Clarine had managed to appear in front of him in the time it took for him to blink.

“You should go back to bed,” Lilina offered gently, and Wolt painfully suppressed a yawn as he shook his head.  


“No need,” he said dimly, and Clarine impatiently snapped her fingers in front of his face. Groggily, he teetered a little as he took a step back from the sudden noise.

“You literally just fell asleep standing up,” she replied crossly. “You’re no use dead on your feet, you know. You're barely any use awake.”

All Wolt managed in response was a vague, confused noise, and the two women exchanged a glance.

“Bed,” said Lilina. “Now. No excuses, Wolt.”

Wolt shook his head again, but in the next moment he found himself shoved out of the library by Clarine, the door locking fast behind him.

Wolt, for all his faults, knew when he was beat.  


The path his feet led him on was pure, instinctive muscle memory, and before he knew it he was outside the door to his bedroom. The sight of it was so comforting he could cry.

It couldn’t hurt to get some sleep in his room during the day, he decided. Roy was being kept busy by his duties and knights, after all, and no one would be expecting him to sleep here. He’d lock the door, no one would bother him, and he could finally catch up with his damn sleep deficit and be useful for once.

Yes, Wolt thought desperately as he changed into his nightshirt. Everything would be just fine.

The sheets on his bed were fresh and crisp and smelled like new soap, and Wolt let himself melt away into oblivion without a second thought.

\--

Everything, obviously, was not fine, and by this point Wolt really should have known better than to tempt fate like that.

He’d passed out the moment that his head hit his pillow, but he hadn’t been able to sleep for more than a few hours before everything went, as always, to shit.

“Wolt,” whispered that damn, horrible, lovely voice, and Wolt’s eyes snapped open the second it hit his ears.

It was Roy, of course. Wolt’s mind was still hazy, but soon he adjusted to consciousness and realized with a groan that his lord was straddling his hips, his hands braced on either side of his pillow because  _ of course he was. _

Really, he was far more irritated than distressed now. Wolt supposed that you could take only so much harrassment from the universe before it became routine enough to be annoying.

“I need to talk to you,” said Roy urgently, his voice hushed.  


“Uh huh,” Wolt replied, yawning. Vaguely, he wondered how much sleep he’d be able to get before sunrise if he kicked Roy out now.

He’d admit that he tended to become a little cranky when denied his rest.

“We need to leave,” Roy continued hastily. “Tonight.”

That woke Wolt up.

“Leave?” he responded, sitting up as Roy leant back on his haunches. “Did I hear that right?”

Roy nodded, his eyes glancing back at Wolt’s door as if someone was going to barge in on them. The archer tried to remember if he’d locked it before passing out.

“I have a rough plan worked out,” said Roy. “We should try and leave before midnight, but the sooner we go the better.”

“Uh,” started Wolt eloquently, a little confused. “Why, exactly, are we leaving?”

“So we can be together,” Roy replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re going to start a new life together somewhere, just you and me.”  


"That," said Wolt immediately, "is definitely not happening. What would we even do?"

"We could be mercenaries," offered Roy. "Or I could go into law. We could have a little cottage together in the hills and keep sheep. I'll take care of you."

"And Pherae?"

"Lilina can have Pherae. She'll know what to do with it."

Wolt, visibly, was not convinced. For once, Roy seemed to notice.

"Well, then," he sighed, defeated. "I suppose it has to be Plan B, then."

"Plan B?" Wolt asked. "What's Plan B?"

Roy didn't answer. Instead, he'd apparently decided that stripping off his belt and moving to undo his tunic was a much better method of explanation.

Suddenly, Wolt realized that he probably wasn't going to like Plan B very much, either.

"Lord Roy!" he hissed, shocked. "What are you doing??”  


Once again ignoring his friend's discomfort, Roy abandoned his unsuccessful attempts at navigating his buttons and simply shucked his shirts off over his head, throwing them to the side. Wolt could see a red, almost rash like flush gathering on his freckled shoulders, and through his panic he realized that his friend was nearly vibrating out of his skin.

"I'm showing them," Roy replied, his voice determined.  "I told them, I've seen the way you look at me. You want me just as much as I want you. I've known it for years. And if he thinks he can take you away from me--"

“No one’s trying to take me away from you,” Wolt countered quickly. Roy was getting more and more manic, the strange rash spreading in all directions, and he needed to calm him down before the situation got any worse. He could almost feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Klein is.”

“Lord Klein?” 

"All this new attention he's been paying you, as if I wouldn't realize. He's trying to lure you away from me."

"That's not--"

“I know you used to like him,” Roy said suddenly. Wolt choked on his words. “Back during the war. Lots of people did. But that was long ago, and I won’t let him have you. I won’t give him the chance.”

“Master Roy--”

“No more ‘Master Roy’,” Roy interrupted. “Especially not after tonight. No one will be able to deny how we feel after tonight.”

“Tonight?” Wolt repeated, uncertain. “Um, why? What’s going to happen tonight?”

“I’ve decided,” Roy announced as he pressed Wolt against the headboard, “that tonight I’m going to ride you until this bed breaks.”

Wolt didn’t know what the proper response to your best friend and long-time crush saying something like  _ that _ was, but he knew it probably wasn’t whatever that weird, strangled noise that came out of his throat was.

“Pardon?” he croaked. Wolt’s voice hadn’t cracked this badly since he’d gone through puberty, but there he was, his vocal chords betraying him as if he was a snot-nosed kid all over again.

Roy smiled coyly, his eyes flitting up and down Wolt’s thinly clothed torso, and he leaned in to whisper in his flustered friend’s ear.

“I said,” he repeated softly, “that I’m going to  _ ride _ you.”

“Ah,” Wolt replied blankly. “That’s… that’s what I thought you said.”

“I’ve been thinking about it since the closet,” Roy continued, “since you let me know that you wanted to take control. I can’t stop imagining it--I even practiced. Last night, when I couldn’t find you, I curled up in your bed and--”

“Mmhmm, yes,” interrupted Wolt, a strange tone in his voice. “Yep, okay. Wonderful. Would you please excuse me for a moment, Lord Roy?”

Some people say that when the human psyche is put under such stress and pressure that it can’t help but to bend or to break, a man can react in one of two ways.

He can give into madness, let it consume him and warp him until he’s nothing but a broken, sobbing, twisted shell of his former self, or he can ascend beyond it and float into a peaceful, enlightened state of calm where nothing and no one could ever harm him.

Wolt, it seemed, had done the latter, and this sense of eerie tranquility followed him as he got up, got dressed, and made his way through the halls of the manor and down into the dungeons. He smiled peacefully as he greeted the guard on duty.

“Hello,” Wolt said. “Sidney, was it?”

“Er, yes. Hello, sir,” the guard--Sidney--replied, looking a bit put off. “A bit late for you to be down here, isn’t it?”

“I’m running an errand for Lord Roy,” explained Wolt. “May I have the master key?”

On any other day, Sidney would of asked questions. Any other day and she would have checked to make sure that yes indeed, their lord had requested the keys to the cells for one reason or another and Wolt was well within his duty to be receiving them. But this was not any other day. Strange and chaotic things had happened in her life today, things which can't be repeated here, and Sidney could see the glint of something sharp and unhinged glimmering in the eyes of the man who stood before her, and so she decided that today was a day where it was alright to just say ‘Fuck it’ and let things slide.

She would later regret this decision.

Visibly unnerved, the guard gave up the keyring with little fuss and Wolt swiftly made his way to the holding cells proper. 

Lance and Allen were apparently making an attempt at intimidation, as they were both staring silently at the Earl with stern, determined expressions. The Earl stared back, somewhat bemused. No one said a word as Wolt approached.  
  


“Good evening, Sir Lance, Sir Allen,” said Wolt as he unlocked the door to the old man’s cell.

“Wolt.” Lance looked uneasy as he watched the younger man carefully slid through the bars. “What are you doing?”

Wolt didn’t answer. Instead, he smiled kindly for a moment at the confused, scowling Earl. Then, swiftly and without warning, he took his balding head in his hands and slammed it down to meet his knee with a sickening crack.

“Wolt!” Lance exclaimed, shocked, and at the same time Allen could be heard yelling “Holy shit!”

The Earl hit the floor with a blood curdling scream, and Wolt wasted no time in descending upon him.

“TELL US--” A punch. “--WHERE THE DAMN--” Another. “--APOTHECARY IS--” A third. “--YOU  _ SON OF A BITCH! _ ”

“Help!” the noble cried between blows. “Please, I’ll tell you! Stop him! Stop him, you damn brutes!”

Wolt was still trying to stomp on the greedy old bastard when Lance and the guard, who had run in at the start of all the yelling, had finally managed to pull him away.

“Holy shit,” Allen repeated. For some reason, he looked like he was having the best day of his life. “Holy _shit, _Wolt, you’ve _snapped_.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Lance yelled breathlessly, “but if you don’t grab his feet there’s going to be a  _ murder.” _

Soon enough they had Wolt wrangled and thrown into a cell at the far end of the room to cool off, and as the poor guard wandered back to her post both knights stared intently at the earl. In the corner, Wolt gave one last exhausted holler before finally going silent.  


“Well?” demanded Lance, still out of breath. Alan hadn’t fared much better, and there was a bruise forming where Wolt had accidentally kicked him in the eye. He glared intensely all the same.

“Sampson’s Apothecary,” grumbled the Earl, tending to his bleeding nose. “In a village a little ways outside of my county.” He turned suddenly to face Wolt’s cell, his hands gripping the bars so hard that his knuckles turned white. “You’ll regret this, boy, I swear it. I’ll have you strung up--”

“Hey hey, keep up,” Allen scolded, rattling the bars with the keys Wolt had left behind. “Which village?”

“Boebeis,” the old man spat. “Happy?”

“Quite,” replied Lance dryly. “We’ll send someone out in the morning. Wolt?”

“Staying here,” the younger man replied, calling down from where he lay panting in his cell. “He invaded my bed again. Much safer. Right here.”

“I  _ refuse _ !” cried the Earl, scandalized. “I will  _ not _ be staying in the same area as this… this  _ villain _ ! You’ve seen what he’d tried to do to me--”

Allen rattled the bars of his cell again, cutting him off.

“We’ll keep your cage locked, just in case Lord Roy realizes where you've gone,” Allen told Wolt as he left, diligently ignoring the old nobleman’s indignant squawks. “Try to not to let his screaming keep you up, alright?”

The noise seemed to be of no concern--Wolt had already fallen asleep, and the two knights decide to let good enough alone. The young man needed his rest, and as it was everything could wait until tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidney the guard has a very full inner life and existence outside of her work place, thank you very much.
> 
> Tbh I can't believe i wrote this im traumatized


	6. In which Roy tries fix everything and fails horribly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied. There's one last chapter after this. I had to split up the last chapter into two because it got too long and incoherent lol I think i gave myself tonal whiplash.
> 
> WARNING: there's implied self harm, light suicidal ideation, and gore in this chapter! Know your limits and stay safe.

Roy stayed sitting where Wolt had left him, his shaking knees drawn up to his chest as he stared at where his love had been what felt like moments before. His mind was racing, and he scratched absently at the red splotches that were slowly traveling down his arms.

Wolt doesn't want me, Roy thought numbly. Doesn't he love me? Does he hate me? His eyes were so filled with desire and Roy could _ feel _ him reacting--so why was he abandoned? What went wrong?

“The others must’ve done something,” he decided. “They must have lied to him. They _ must _ have.”

They turned his love against him. They filled his mind with lies and now here Roy sat, his heart broken and his eyes filled with sorrow.

He’ll explain it all again, of course, but what if Wolt didn’t believe him? What if he didn’t want him anymore? Roy’s head swam and his chest stung, and he slapped a hand against his mouth desperately. He was going to hyperventilate, he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Klein was more handsome than him. He was older, wiser, more dashing. He thought of Wolt turning to him, of Klein touching Wolt like Roy wanted to. He thought about Klein taking him. He felt sick.

The nails of his free hand dug into his skin. What would he do? He couldn’t survive without Wolt. He couldn’t live. Roy’s eyes and arm burned as he scratched, a hot wetness falling from one or another or both. Something had to be done. He had to get him back.

Miserable, Roy drew the covers around himself as he lay down and buried his nose into Wolt's pillow. It smelled like him. It _ smelled _ like him. He let out a single loud, shuddering sob and gasped, bile rising in his throat. What was he going to do?

They belonged together. They _ belonged together. _Roy decided that he didn’t care who stood in their way. He decided that he didn't care if it was Wolt.

Wolt would just have to learn. He’d have to understand. Roy simply couldn’t exist otherwise.

\--

Lilina had known Roy almost as long as she’d known herself, and had known Wolt almost as long as she’d known Roy. The two were like brothers to her, her fleeting crush on Roy notwithstanding, and it hurt her to see the two of them tortured like this. They were her family, and she loved them as such.

That said, she couldn’t help but be disappointed.

“I can’t believe,” she said, “that you’ve landed yourself in _ jail.” _

Wolt winced from where he sat on the bed in his cell.

“We’ve found out where to find the apothecary, at least?” he offered.

“By committing _ aggravated assault against a prisoner _!” Lilina hissed. The man in question was still a few cells down, snoring loudly through the bruised and swollen flesh of his face. Lilina shook her head in disbelief. “Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused me? The league will be up in arms.”

“In my defense,” said Wolt, “he has a very punchable face.” 

Lilina, to his dismay, didn’t laugh.

“You,” she said pointedly, “are staying in there until further notice.”

Fair enough, Wolt thought. And at least Roy couldn’t get him from behind bars. Speaking of which...

“Has Master Roy been found yet?” he asked, concerned. No one had seen hide nor hair of the ginger since Wolt had left him in his bed, and his gut twisted at the thought of something happening to him. Worryingly, they couldn't find Klein, either.

Lilina shook her head, disheartened, as she removed something from the pocket of her skirt.

“Afraid not,” she said. “Alen’s still searching the grounds for him. He can’t have gone far.”

She dangled the items from her index finger for Wolt to see; it was two familiar, identical sets of keyrings.

“I took all of the keys I could find in his desk,” she continued, “and the guards have been told to keep him away from the dungeons, so you should be okay on your own for now.” Lilina looked at him then, concern laid across her delicate features. 

“_ Are _ you okay on your own?” she asked.

Wolt gave her a small, reassuring smile in return.

“Of course, m’lady,” he said, and he bowed a little from where he sat. It was sweet of her to be so concerned, he knew. He wasn’t sure how he was going to repay her kindness.

Lilina sighed and pocketed the keys again, straightening out her skirts as she did so.

“I’ll be back soon, then,” she said. “Don’t worry yourself too much, Wolt. Lance is already gone to fetch the antidote and I’m sure Roy will be found soon.” She smiled, the gesture not quite reaching her eyes. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“And Lord Klein?”

Lilina paused, already making her way to the door.

“...We’ll find Lord Klein as well,” she promised. “He’s probably just searching for Roy. With any hope he’s already found him.” 

Wolt didn’t bother to respond past a polite nod. Honestly, he was just getting tired of tempting fate. Lilina didn’t blame him.

As it turned out, fate didn’t need any tempting and was perfectly fine with acting on it's own accord, meaning that Wolt had about five minutes of peace and quiet after Lilina left before calamity struck him once again.

Roy looked the worst that Wolt had seen him since the war. He stormed into the holding cells with his hair wild and uncombed, wearing the same wrinkled clothes he’d attempted to strip himself of the night before. His eyes, wild and searching, had deep, bruised bags underneath, and Wolt’s heart stung at the look of desperate despair that he held in them. His hands were dirty and his boots were covered in muck. If he squinted, Wolt could make out that he hadn’t shaved.

Roy, it seemed, had a rough night.

“Where have you been?” Wolt blurted despite himself. He came up to the bars, any sense of self preservation lost at the sight of his friend’s disarray. He reached out his hand to him through his cage.

“We were all worried sick, Master Roy. Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Roy blinked at him as if seeing him for the first time, his despair replaced with surprise. He grabbed onto Wolt’s hand as if it were a lifeline.

“I’ve been with the dogs all night,” he said. “I wanted to do something nice for you--why are you in _ jail _?”

Wolt paused, awkward.

“Oh. Um...”

“Who put you in there?” Roy demanded, his eyes going dark again. “Is this why you didn’t come back last night? Did _ they _ do this?”

“Well--”

“Oh, shut up, would you?” snapped a tired sounding voice from down the row.

The earl, it seemed, had woken up.

“Some of us are trying to recuperate,” Agios groused, and he sat up in his bed to glare at the two of them. “The rudeness of youth still knows no bounds, I see.”

Roy stared at him, eyes wide.

“Elimine,” he said. “What happened to _you?_”

“Your heathen of a man servant,” the old man spat, “has once again visited grievous harm upon my body. If it wasn’t enough to take away my dignity, this cur--”

Roy had obviously started to tune out the earl by his tenth word, and he quickly turned his attention back to his love.

“Is that why you’re in here?” he asked. He stopped to watch Wolt stutter for a moment and then shook his head.

“No, nevermind,” he said. “That doesn’t matter now. I have something important for you.”

With that Roy reached behind himself to grab something he had stowed in his belt, taking it and presenting it to Wolt through the bars. Wolt took a step back and stared at it.

“A… a dagger?” Wolt asked, uncertain.

It was a very nice dagger, to be sure. The hilt and sheath were a beautiful, royal blue enamel, and the scarlet rubies and gold filigree that wound itself around the knife’s curves glinted in the dim light streaming from wolt’s barred window. It was beautiful, and he recognized it from its place on the wall in Roy’s office, but the question was why Roy was giving it to _ him _.

“It’s symbolic,” Roy explained. “Or literal, if you want. I love you. I’m giving you my life." He squeezed Wolt's hand, his eyes glimmering with despair.

"I can’t--I don't _want_ to--live without you.”

Wolt stared, dumbfounded, as Roy removed the dagger from its sheath and pushed it towards him, a desperate look on his face.

"You can end my torture, Wolt," Roy said. He pressed Wolt's hand against his heart through the bars, a pleading look in his eyes. "It hurts. It hurts so much. _Please_, tell me what you want."

Wolt gazed down at the dagger in Roy's hand, his mind racing. He couldn't be asking for him to... to do _that_, right? To hurt him? There was no way. This choice--

It wasn't fair.

The knife seemed to gleam at him, as dangerous as it was beautiful. A delicate inscription was engraved in cursive on the blade. Wolt didn’t get the chance to read it.

“Disgusting,” scoffed Agios from his cell. Immediately, Roy’s eyes snapped to him, a cold, furious look growing. “Absolutely heinous! To give such a thing to a commoner--”

“Shut it,” said Roy.

“--let alone a filthy sodomite like _ him? _ This is a _ disgrace, _ m’lord.”

“I said, shut it,” repeated Roy. The corner of his mouth began to twitch.

Agios, as he was wont, continued on anyway.

“I’m ashamed on your behalf, Marquis Pherae,” he sneered, his displeasure blocking out any common sense he might’ve had. “Just one ruby on that hilt is worth that mongrel’s life tenfold over. How dare you present such a treasure to such filth?” Agios shook his head and scoffed, disgusted. “His eyes should be plucked from his head for just looking at it.”

Roy didn’t respond. He only grit his teeth and, with an eerily calm air, made his way down to Agios’s cell.

“Once you’ve come to your senses that man will hang,” the earl continued, too wrapped up in his ire to notice the white-knuckled way Roy gripped his dagger, “and we’ll be all the better for it. It’ll be a joy to watch such a disgraceful, _violent_ deviant dangle from the gallows--” 

Agios didn’t get to finish his tirade. Wolt heard a choked, shocked scream ring out as a sickeningly wet thudding sound echoed off the dungeon walls. The sound of a body hitting the floor rang through his ears. There was a terrible silence.

Then the sound of metal hitting stone punctured the quiet and through his bars Wolt could see Roy making his way back to him. His hands were bloody, and if Wolt craned his neck he could see the dagger laying on the floor a few meters away, it’s blade horribly wet. Stuttering, gasping breaths were coming from Agios’ cell. Roy smiled at him apologetically.

“Let’s get you out of here, hmm? Then we can talk and you can decide on what you want.”

The lord dropped to his knees in front of Wolt’s cell and wiped his hands on his tunic before reaching up behind his ear. With a distressing air of practice, Roy plucked out a hairpin he’d hidden under his headband and started to pick at the lock.

Wolt, high on adrenaline and shock, stared at his lord.

“You killed him,” he said.

“I stabbed him,” corrected Roy.

“And-- and you can pick locks now?”

“Well, of course,” said Roy. He bit his lip thoughtfully as he twisted the pin in the mechanism until he heard clicking. “So many nobles ended up held captive in the last war that I thought it’d be a good skill to learn. Just in case, you know.”

"Oh," said Wolt. He watched cautiously as his friend finished working the lock, the heavy steel door swinging open almost effortlessly. Something had finally dawned on him. He swallowed.

"Master Roy," he asked slowly, already dreading the answer. "Where is Lord Klein?"

Roy shrugged, a relaxed, airy smile on his face.

"Who knows?" he said.

"But--"

"Don't worry about it," Roy insisted. It only took a few steps before he stood nose to nose with his love, and immediately he draped his arms over his shoulders, his hands coyly coming up to lace themselves behind Wolt’s head. Roy’s smile was gentle, but there was steel behind it. A sickening, anxious horror grew in Wolt’s gut as his friend searched his eyes. 

“Let’s talk about something else,” said Roy. “Why did you leave me last night? Don't you want me?”

“I--”

“And don’t lie,” Roy continued, his eyes stern. “I always know when you’re lying, Wolt. Your left eyebrow arcs up whenever you try.”

Shit.

Wolt, clever as always, could only stutter uselessly in response.

Thankfully, the archer was soon spared from answering any further. A door slammed in the distance, the noise echoing down stone halls and into the dungeon proper, and Roy swore as he other tensed.

“Dammit,” he muttered, and in one big stride he shot across the cell and peered out the bars. Footsteps could be heard making their way down the corridor now, and Wolt eyed the pin in Roy’s hand nervously.

It was the guard from the night before. Roy froze as she cautiously stuck her head into the room, a bewildered look on her face.

“Dantri?” she called, “I’ve come to relieve you--oh!”

Sidney stood straight as she recognized her lord, her hand coming up into a practiced salute as she entered the room properly.

“Lord Pherae!”

“Hello,” said Roy. Nervously, as if sensing the tension in the air, Sidney looked between Roy, the door of the open cell, and the still haggard looking Wolt.

“Sir,” she started, hesitantly, “Not to question your grace, but are you supposed to be down here? I was told you weren’t to be allowed...”

The guard trailed off uncertainly as her eyes wandered to the far off cell, where Lord Agios was still being suspiciously quiet, and she frowned.

“Erm, is he alright?” The guard asked. “Should I be concerned? Sir?”

“Not at all,” said Roy. He gave her a bright smile as Wolt shook his head desperately, a distressed, wide-eyed look on his face. “Rather, I think you probably have better things to do then stay down here all day.”

Slowly, the guard looked between the three men. Roy continued to smile as if there wasn’t a slow, oozing pool of blood spreading out from under the old man lying quietly in his cell. Wolt continued to stare at her almost pleadingly, his eyes seemingly begging for help.

This situation, it seems, had already gone far above her paygrade.

“Have I, sir?” she asked cautiously. Her eyes caught the glint of wet metal. Oh, well then--there was a knife on the floor. That explained the blood, at least. Sidney took a small step backwards. This really wasn’t her week.

“That depends,” replied Roy cheerfully, “on whether or not you’d like to take the night off. With pay, of course.”

“Um…” the guard paused a moment to carefully take in her surroundings as if weighing her options. Obviously, Dantri had been given the same choice. Did he also get stabbed? She blinked, unsure of the proper response.

“....Yes?” she guessed, uncertain, before nodding her head firmly. “Er, yeah. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Brilliant,” beamed Roy. He gave her a little wave as she awkwardly backed out of the room, one cautious step at a time. “Have a good night, then.”

Agios let out a nearly silent groan from his little crumpled heap as the door shut behind her, and Wolt knew he had to do something. He couldn’t let his blood stain his friend’s hands. Roy would never forgive himself.

“Master Roy.”

“Don’t call me--” Roy started, but his scolding fell silent as Wolt grabbed his hand and pulled him into a tight, sudden embrace. Instantly, it was as if every bone in the other man’s body had melted, and Roy let out a tremendous, shaking sigh as he grabbed at the back of Wolt’s livery.

“Oh,” he murmured softly, and Wolt swallowed thickly as Roy began to tremble. He was so warm. Wolt held him tighter, his hands shaking. Roy’s voice was almost a whisper as he began to talk.

“Oh, thank god,” he said. “I was so _ scared_, Wolt. I couldn't have gone on without you. I'd rather die.”

Roy angled his face up then, his lips brushing gently against Wolt’s for one moment and then another before finally burying themselves into the other’s neck. It was his Wolt. He smelled like bee-balm and leather, like he was supposed to. His arms were strong and warm. Roy could feel the start of new stubble against his cheek as he kissed. Everything was finally the way it was supposed to be.

Wolt, for his part, was not proud of what he was about to do.

\--

Klein was not proud of the position he currently found himself in.

In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea for Klein to volunteer for babysitting duty that night. Roy wasn’t exactly acting genial to him these last few days, but he’d improved from making thinly veiled death threats to giving him only the occasional glare. Lance and Alen had their hands full with Agios. It all made sense at the time.

That said, Klein wasn’t incredibly surprised when he woke up in a dark, tight, confined space with a throbbing headache.

“Goddammit, Roy,” he sighed, frustrated. “Do you want a war? Because this is how you start wars. Lady Lilina is going to be _ livid... _”

Resigned, he pressed his hands against the ceiling of his container to feel smooth, cold, polished wood. The smell of crisp cedar and camphor pricked at his nose, and he shifted to feel soft, woolen flannel beneath him. Neither the walls or lid budged when slammed against, and his fist stung from the impact.

Well, he thought. This was going to take a while.

Hopefully Clarine won’t be too upset. She was already at her wits end, and it would be horrible for everyone if she got her hands on Roy after this. He'll have to explain carefully.

Two hours later, hands bleeding and splintered wood strewn across the room--wardrobe? Storage closet?--he'd been hidden in, Klein found his way back to the main manor.

Clarine did not, as expected, take things well.

“What do you mean, he _ locked you in a trunk _?!”

His sister's voice was as loud and piercing as always, but Klein had spent the better part of his life getting used to it. He ran his hand through his already disheveled hair, a haggard look on his face as he sat on top of one of the library’s sturdy wooden tables. There were bruises and broken skin on his knuckles, as if he’d had to punch his way through a door. The side of his head didn’t seem to fare much better and had started to swell. He was still a bit dizzy.

“He caught me by surprise, is all,” he explained, grimacing as Clarine furiously inspected the bruise blossoming on his temple. “I turned my back for a moment and now I’m afraid I owe them a new cedar chest.”

“He owes me his _ head _, that brazen son of a--!!”

“Clarine,” Klein interrupted, his eyes serious. He held her shoulders in his hands as he gazed into her face. There were things to do, and not a second could be wasted. They were running out of time.

“Where is Wolt?” he asked. "Tell me he's somewhere safe."

As if suddenly catching on, Clarine’s eyes went wide.

“Oh,” she said. 

This, Klein knew, was not the answer he was looking for.

\--

“I was gone for _ twenty minutes!” _

Lilina didn’t know how Wolt got out of his cell, or why he was covered in blood and dragging a similarly drenched earl towards the door, but she suspected that the redhead moping behind locked bars most probably had something to do with it. Wolt looked up at her with wide, wild eyes.

“I’m sorry, Lady Lilina,” he said, and from the sound of his voice he was obviously on the edge of having another nervous breakdown. “There’s been a bit of a crisis and I really don’t want Roy to be tried for murder? Please help.”

“Does it really matter?” asked Roy from his cell. His normally bright blue eyes were dull from despair, and he stared at the floor as he spoke. “There’s no point in anything. I’d rather die now, anyway.”

Lilina stared at Wolt questioningly. Wolt, in turn, laughed in a disconcerting, almost hysterical way. 

“My life is ruined,” he said cheerfully, as if that explained anything. Agios groaned as he was dragged a few more feet towards the exit. “I’ve shoved my best friend into a cell after betraying him and destroying all hope of my future happiness, all just so he doesn’t have to live with the death of a feeble old man on his conscious. It’s great.”

“..._What? _ ” asked Lilina.

“I’m going to hell,” Wolt clarified, and before Lilina could say anything more in response the door burst open once again. Understandably, the new arrivals stopped in their tracks at the sight in front of them.

There was a moment of silence as everyone tried to process the situation. Agios groaned weakly in pain as Wolt unceremoniously dropped him.

“Oh, yes, wonderful!” yelled Clarine, her face contorted in anger. “Now _ this _ old bastard’s bleeding everywhere. Have you been stabbed too, you idiot?! Why don’t we all just go ahead and let Roy brutally maul us!”

“Wolt, are you alright?” Klein translated. He crossed the short distance and dropped to his knees in front of Agios, checking his injuries. “No one else is hurt?”

“Life isn’t worth living,” Roy supplied helpfully from his cell, “and you’ve all killed me.”

Klein looked up at him questioningly.

“Homewrecker,” said Roy. 

Lilina carefully put her hand on Wolt’s shoulder. She was fairly sure that he was about to start crying. 

Lance couldn’t get back soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lilina and also me:


	7. In which, true to form, Wolt is a dumb bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take it it's done i don't know what to tell you other than this fic is a curse that will rest on my soul for the rest of eternity

Roy and Wolt had always been close.

Roy remembers how Wolt had held his hand when they were little, like Roy was the most precious thing he’d ever touched. He’d hold it as gentle as if it were a baby bird and as firm as if Roy would be spirited away if he let go. It always made Roy’s heart feel full to bursting when Wolt held his hand. It made him feel special.

Roy remembers Wolt climbing into his bed when he was scared. He never went to Rebecca when he had a nightmare, or his father. It was always Roy. They were both so small, and Roy was smaller still, but when the other boy crawled under the covers and tucked his head under his chin Wolt’s shaking would always stop. Wolt said he made him feel safe. Roy had never felt so proud.

Wolt stopped holding Roy’s hand when they were ten. He stopped crawling into his bed, too, so one night Roy crawled into his instead. He still remembers how warm it was, how his breath had felt on his neck. Wolt had held him so tightly that night, like if he let go they’d die. He thinks about it almost every night. He thinks about what would’ve happened if they’d thought to kiss. It still makes his heart quiver.

Even back then, Wolt was the only person Roy had ever thought about this way. He was the only person that could make Roy feel like this. He was the only one Roy had ever wanted to want.

They were thirteen when Wolt had stopped touching him altogether, and it was barely a year before he started with the titles. Then came the war, and Wolt started to look at other men the way he used to look at Roy. Roy remembers how angry he was at him for his distance. He remembers how helpless he felt, how euphoric it was when they made up. When things went back to normal.

He wasn't as controlling back then, he realized suddenly. When did he become like this? Always needing? Always expecting?

It's not about control, explains the voice. It's not about wanting. Its love. Real love. Something like that needs to be protected, it can't be allowed to end. You cannot let him go.

Roy doesn't know what to think of that. He doesn't know if he understands.

Roy thinks about how it felt to smash that pitcher over Kleins’s head. How vindicating it was. The bitter sting of jealousy that had been quieted. The older man hadn’t been expecting it--Roy had tricked him into helping him open his linen chest, the one at the foot of his bed that held the heavy down duvet that was used during the colder months, and Klein hadn’t even seen him line up his swing. Simple. Quick. No fuss, save for some broken china. 

Klein had crumpled at the knees as if he was a puppet whose strings had been cut, and though part of Roy’s mind reeled in horror what he’d done, the feeling was easy to quiet and shove into the abyss that had been growing in his head.

Really, the hardest part was dragging the thing into his cabinet room; Klein was much heavier than a duvet, and the entire time he was lugging the chest there was still a disquieting twinge of guilt running through him.

How ridiculous, the voice had whispered as he set the lock and stashed the key. There’s no need to feel guilty for protecting what’s yours.

Finally, Roy thinks about how Wolt let him explore his mouth before he was shoved to the hard, unforgiving stone floor. About the look Wolt gave him as he threw away the hair pin and locked the cell door. Hadn’t Wolt said that he would never betray him? That he’d always be on his side?

The voice is right, as always. He can’t let things end like this.

He can't let go.

\--

Alan, Lance thought, always got the easy jobs.

It had taken almost half a day to reach Boebeis from Castle Pherae, but the apothecary had been simple enough to locate. It was a squat little building that sat on the edge of the town proper, a simple sign above the door the only thing distinguishing itself from a homestead, and when Lance had gone in the lone inhabitant was already bustling around despite the utter lack of clients.

This, he would realize later, was horrible foreshadowing.

“Are you sure I couldn’t interest you in powdered alligator?” asked the apothecarist for the ninth time since he stepped through the small shop’s door. “Or an owl brain? It’s wonderful not only for headaches caused by stress, but for personal vigor and vitality as well--”

“No, thank you,” insisted Lance. “I need to speak with you about a specific--please, I really could not be less interested in goat testicles, can I--no, sheep testicles _ are not preferable _\--”

This, to be frank, was the nightmare scenario as far as the cavalier was concerned. The apothecarist had flitted from shelf to shelf in that tiny storefront, each time returning with something else to push in front of his nose while Lance tried doggedly to get a word in edgewise. No, thank you, he did not need a pint of castoreum. Or a mummified cat’s paw. Or an entire handful of human teeth, what in the world could he possibly want with--

“You sound like a foreigner, dear sir. Perhaps you’ll be interested in some dried cormorant blood? It works wonders for travelling over water, you know.”

“Listen,” said Lance firmly. He reached out and grabbed the apothecarist by the shoulders, his last nerve worn thin. “A man named Agios was here. He probably talked about how rich he was. What. Did. He. Get.”

He shook the apothecarist with each word, his face dead serious, but the shop owner only tilted their head politely.

“Yes, I remember him,” they said. “Oh, did I tell you about our deal on owl brains yet?”

Lance’s anguished scream could be heard from across town.

Truly, Alan always got the easy jobs.

It took several hours and several fits of desperate yelling for things to be resolved, but the second that those little vials landed in Lance’s hand--he’d gotten an extra dose, he was NOT coming back for another one if the first one broke, Wolt was on his goddamn own after this--he wasted no time in getting on his horse and riding back to the manor. He made the return trip in half the time, and he was fairly sure that his horse now hated him.

Honestly, Lance had never been more grateful to see the gates of Castle Pherae. It had been a long, long, long day and a half. He wanted a bath. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to punch that smug old bastard in the stones for making him go on a half-day ride to retail hell. Lord Roy had better take his goddamn medicine or Lance was going to be tempted to quit on the spot.

Immediately, the knight was met in the stables by a very familiar face.

“Thank the gods,” Alan cried as he entered. “What the hell took you so long? The earl got stabbed! And I think there’s going to be a war? I’m actually not entirely sure. You took too long, is the point.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” explained Lance, handing Alan the tiny vials he’d suffered so much to obtain. He wasn’t terribly surprised. He would’ve stabbed the earl as well if given the chance. “They kept trying to sell me things and wouldn’t shut up about the usefulness of snail mucus. I’m lucky I got out with just the antidote, honestly.”

Surreptitiously, Lance slipped an extra jar out of his bag and onto the shelf behind him.

“...And what are those?” asked Alan.

“That’s none of your business,” replied Lance sternly, “and we’re not going to talk about it. Where’s Lord Roy?”

“Ah,” said Alan. “About that.”

Lance was glad that he’d decided to get the owl brain after all.

\--

“Your boyfriend’s taking himself hostage.”

This was not the best thing to wake up to.

Granted, Wolt didn’t exactly expect good news when someone started pounding on his door in the middle of his long deserved nap, but he’d foolishly had hope. Maybe Lance had come back early, or the potion ran its course through Roy’s system on its own and he was normal again. Maybe Lilina found the correct antidote on her own.

Wolt, as the reader now knows intimately, was not so lucky.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sleepy and confused, “but what?”

For the moment Clarine ignored him, choosing instead to click her tongue and eye his bed clothes dismissively. Selfconsciously, Wolt stepped a little farther behind his door.

"You know,” Clarine mused irritably, “I'd usually be more upset at the gall of sending a young maiden like myself to a man's bed chambers alone. Though it's been well established that_ you're _ hardly a threat, hasn’t it?"

Wow. Unnecessary. Gentleman he was, Wolt decided to take that comment as the compliment it clearly wasn't and move on.

"You said something about hostages," he pressed. “Isn’t Lord Roy still in his cell?”

Clarine rolled her eyes and huffed.

"Not _ literally, _" she snapped, as if Wolt could have possibly known better. "The fool’s holed up in the corner of his cell and pretending to be deaf and blind, and it’s driving all of us mad. He won’t even look at the antidote that Sir Lance went out of his way to get for him.”

Wolt’s eyes lit up hopefully.

“Sir Lance is back?” Finally! Some good news.

“Keep up, would you?" Clarine scoffed. “He’s been back for the last half hour, at least.”

Oh. Vaguely, Wolt felt all the world like time had skipped far ahead without him. How long had his nap lasted? It barely felt like minutes.

Clarine cleared her throat then, and Wolt realized she’d been holding a tray this whole time. It had a vaguely familiar silver set of toiletries perched on top of it, and try as he might Wolt could not imagine why she’d be delivering it to him.

“He requested that I come fetch you,” the young lady continued, “and in my infinite patience I graciously agreed to do him a favour.” 

Clarine puffed up a little as she said this, a haughty, pleased look on her face, and Wolt realized with only the smallest bit of horror that she seemed flattered to be designated the task.

“That’s very kind of you,” he agreed. “You must be very fond of Sir Lance, m’lady.”

This, it seemed, was the wrong thing to say; Clarine immediately froze, her face lighting up the brightest red Wolt had ever seen as she loudly began to stutter.

“I...! R-ridiculous!” she yelled. “How dare you--what imputence--I don’t _ like _ him! If that’s what you mean! How foolish!” Hastily, the younger girl shoved the tray into his hands and crossed her arms stubbornly. She tried her best to glare, but the effect was highly diminished by the way her mouth had started to wobble.

“Me, liking _ him!” _ Clarine repeated, her voice suspiciously high pitched. At this point, Wolt almost felt embarrassed for her. “You must be joking!”

“O-of course,” said Wolt quickly, his tone placating. “Ignore me, Lady Clarine. I’m still half asleep, I’m sure!”

“I should say!” Clarine agreed, her face still burning. “Don’t speak of it again!”

“Never,” promised Wolt.

“Or else!” she insisted, stomping her foot in an attempt at intimidation. “You’ll just be laughed at, you know! What a stupid idea! I’m laughing at it now!”

And laugh she did, the kind of forced, too-loud laugh that never fools anyone. Wolt just nodded along obediently until she forced the last of the pink from her cheeks and got back to business.

“Now come along,” said Clarine impatiently, as if Wolt had been the one to take the time to make all that fuss. “Sir Lance has a job for you.”

Not wanting to cause another scene, Wolt followed in silence. It didn't take long to find his superior and ask what was needed of him. Lady Clarine, it appeared, was incredibly gifted in the art of understatement.

“I’m sorry,” Wolt stuttered, “_ what _? I can’t, I--”

“It’s either this,” supplied Alan, “or we knock him out and hope the antidote goes down the right tube.”

Wolt stared at the older man, horrified at the thought. Lance shot his comrade a stern look as he guided Wolt towards the corridor that led to the cells.

“_ Fortunately _ ,” continued Lance, “we won’t have to resort to that. Just talk to him, distract him with a shave, and if _maybe_ you have to soften him up for him to agree to cooperate, then so be it. We have the utmost faith in you. Really.”

And so Wolt was sent on his way, wondering desperately how he was going to reason with a person with no apparent rationality left. He’d admit that he was reluctant to open the door that would lead him to his imprisoned master, and when he did his stomach turned.

Even during the war, Wolt had never seen anything quite as pitiable as what sat before him in that cell.

“Hello,” Roy said. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and Wolt’s heart stung from the sight of him. They’d both seen better days.

“Hello, Roy,” Wolt replied. “Are you well?” 

A hopeful light lit up in the blue of Roy’s eyes at the sound of his name, and just like that it was as if the smaller man had gone into a trance.

“You didn’t say ‘Lord’,” he breathed. “Or master.”

A small, pleased little smile tugged at the corner of Roy's lips as he spoke. Wolt gathered his courage and opened the cell door with the key Lance had given him. He set the toiletries tray what he deemed to be a safe distance away, though he hadn’t needed to; Roy’s hands had been tied behind his back with soft cloth. Wolt tried his best not to linger on that.

“Supper’s been made, but Sir Lance told me you refuse to eat.”

“I don’t want to eat,” said Roy evenly. “Why would I? I’m heart broken.”

“You need to eat, L--” Wolt stopped himself. “Roy. You haven’t had anything since last night.”

“Are you worried about me?” Roy asked, and relief blossomed across his face as Wolt took a seat next to him on the prison cot.

“Of course I am,” the archer responded automatically, and Roy let out a breathless little laugh as he leaned against his friend’s side.

“I’m so glad,” the lord said. “I was so worried you hated me. You don’t hate me, do you?”

“Never,” said Wolt, and he sat quietly for a moment as Roy sighed contentedly. 

“Sir Lance also told me you won’t take the antidote.”

“Yeah,” replied Roy, and Wolt watched carefully as his friend put his delight away. “I don’t want to. I don’t need it.”

“You do, though.”

“I _ don’t _,” Roy insisted, and an unfamiliar, aggressive tone seeped into his voice. “I was never poisoned to begin with. I don’t need it. They’re trying to trick me.”

Wolt held his tongue. That terrible rash had started to peek out from the neck of Roy’s shirt, and Wolt decided that it would probably be best to change the subject.

Follow Lance’s plan, he thought. Distract him and lure him into obedience. Wolt tried to ignore the sour taste that had started to form in the back of his mouth at the idea of it. 

“You look a sight, you know,” he said as casually as he could manage. His hands only trembled _ slightly _as he retrieved the tray, which Wolt counted as a win. “Is it alright if I give you a shave?”

The nod Roy gave was slight, but something glittered in his eyes and he kept quiet as Wolt went about soaking the brush and preparing the shaving soap.

“You’ve never shaved me before,” said Roy quietly, and Wolt paused in whisking the lather.

“I don’t think you’ve ever asked me to,” he said thoughtfully. 

“I don’t even think I’ve seen you shave yourself.”

“I guess you haven’t, huh?” Keep whisking. Control the conversation. You can do this.

“I wish I had,” Roy sighs. “Your hands are beautiful.”

Wolt fumbled with the brush a little at those words, but he recovered quickly and continued to whisk it all into a thick foam. It was fine. It’ll be just like shaving himself. It’s _ fine _.

Wolt swallowed to try and get the knot out of his throat, but the way Roy’s eyes followed his Adam's apple did not help matters.

“Are you nervous?” Roy asked quietly, and Wolt shook his head as he started to apply the soap to the other’s light, almost translucent ginger stubble. Almost politely, Roy craned his neck to the side to allow access.

“Why would I be nervous?”

“I don’t know,” Roy replied. “but your eyebrow is arching.”

The redhead laughed a little as his friend smacked a hand over the offending brow, and he smiled at him.

“You don’t have to shave me if it makes you uncomfortable,” Roy continued. “I know it’s been a lot. Can we start over?”

“Start over?”

Roy nodded.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he explained, and there was a sadness in his voice that Wolt had never heard before. “I never wanted to push you past your limits. Let’s refresh and go back to before, and I’ll do it right this time.” A soft smile. “I promise I’ll fix everything, if you’ll allow me.”

Wolt set the brush back in it’s little silver bowl. He’d known that his resolve would be tested when he’d agreed to this, but he hadn’t realized just how far gone he was until now. Roy always had a way of finding just the right heart-strings to pull. Desperately, he racked his mind for a reason to say no.

“But… but your shave...”

“It’s okay,” said Roy, his smile reassuring. “I’ll finish up the shaving myself, and then we can talk over supper if you’d like. We can start new.”

Wolt shook his head determinedly, thankful for the branch Roy had unknowingly passed his way.

“No way,” he said, and he stood up in his defiance. Roy looked heartbroken.

“Wolt…”

“You tried to get me to stab you with a dagger and then knifed a nobleman,” Wolt continued firmly, his resolve renewed. “For Elimine’s sake, you are _ not _ allowed to have a straight razor.”

Roy stared at him for a moment, bewildered, before breaking out into a fit of relieved laughter. 

“No, sorry--!” he choked out. “I--Wolt, you didn’t know?”

“What?” asked Wolt, as confused as he was disturbed by this sudden levity. “Know what?” 

Roy’s laughter died out with a chuckle, and he heaved another sigh of relief as he looked up at his friend fondly.

“So that’s why you reacted like that,” he mused, all distress gone from his expression. He looked very strange, clothes and hair rumpled and face half covered in lather, but he sat himself up straight and for the first time that day Roy looked like his old self again. “It was all just a misunderstanding.”

“I… don’t get it,” said Wolt, and Roy just continued to smile softly at him. “Misunderstanding?”

“It’s a metaphor,” Roy clarified, as if that explained anything. “The dagger, I mean. It’s all ceremonial.”

“Ceremonial,” Wolt repeated, understanding even less than he did before.

Roy nodded, pleased that the other was seemingly following along.

“I wasn’t really asking you to hurt me,” he continued. “Though, I wouldn’t have stopped you if you had wanted to. That’s your right under the proposal.”

“The proposal?”

“Yes, proposal. I mean, historically there’s been a few stabbings here and there, but usually there’s just a polite refusal. The dagger’s supposed to be an equalizer for when there’s such a huge difference in station.”

Wolt stared at his friend for a moment as he tried to decipher what he’d been told.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he admitted.

“It’s so that if you refuse I can’t just force you,” Roy explained patiently. “This way you can legally defend yourself, and the marriage is founded on an even standing of force.”

“The _ what_,” said Wolt, just as the door to the holding cells was unceremoniously slammed open.

“Oh, good,” said Alan, and he gave Wolt a nod as he entered. “You’re alive. All we could hear was this insane laughter and then everything went quiet for so long, we thought he might’ve gotten free and murdered you.”

“How dare you,” replied Roy, looking genuinely insulted. “I’d never hurt him. I--”

“Love him, yes,” said Alan. “I take it you still need some time, then?”

“Nope,” said Wolt, much too loud. “You have wonderful timing and should stay right here, Sir Alan.” Hastily, Wolt picked up the shaving brush and tried to start applying the soap to Roy’s face again only to find that the lather had died down during their talk.

“Wolt,” said Roy, but Wolt steadfastly ignored him, choosing instead to busy himself with whisking more soap.

“Is there any news about Agios?” Wolt asked, desperate to change the subject to literally anything else. The foap started to crest the top of the bowl, but Wolt continued to whisk anyway. “Still stable? Clarine hasn’t decided to kill him, has she?”

Alan gave the both of them a long, strange look.

“Yeah,” he said, more to himself than Wolt. “You two still need some time. I’m off.”

“Wait,” called Wolt, but Alan had already gone, disappearing behind the heavy wooden door without another word.

“Wolt,” Roy repeated, gently. “It’s okay. We don’t have to rush, for real this time.”

Wolt couldn’t bear to turn back and look at him, so he decided it was better to just look at the door instead. Maybe Alan would come back if he stared long enough. Maybe Roy would stop with this nonsense.

“You don’t have to be scared,” Roy continued, and Wolt could feel his eyes burn into his back. “You don’t have to give your answer right away. We’ll go slow from now on, I promise. I understand.”

“But you don’t understand,” replied Wolt, and his voice was so quiet that he didn’t know if Roy could even hear him. “You don’t understand. How could you?”

“Wolt--”

“Don’t.” 

Wolt turned to face his friend now. His hands shook and his knuckles turned white as he clutched the silver brush and bowl, and when he spoke it felt like the words were flooding out of his mouth without his permission.

“You keep saying that you love me,” he continued, “that you need me, but how can I believe you? You keep touching me but how can I take you seriously?” His face turned red, but for once it wasn’t with embarrassment. He felt the despair and loneliness inside him well up into something new, something that wasn’t quite anger but felt very much like it.

“How can I?” he demanded. “How can you say you understand how I feel when I don’t even know if it’s you speaking or that damn potion?!”

His voice echoed off the stone walls, and for a moment they just stared at each other in that dark cell, the tension ringing in their ears. Wolt was the one to look away first.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning away again. The anger had drained away as fast as it came, and with it Wolt deflated. 

“I shouldn’t’ve shouted,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Roy replied quietly. “Will you untie my hands, Wolt?”

Hesitantly, Wolt nodded. Roy wasn’t a danger to himself anymore, and Wolt was between him and the folded straight razor anyway. If he tried for it, it wouldn’t be hard to stop him.

Roy sat still while his friend undid the knots binding his hands, and once they were freed he took a moment to rub the circulation back into his wrists before making his move. Wolt stiffened as Roy’s hands darted up, prepared himself as they clasped his face and held it still, but Roy didn’t try to bridge the gap between him like he would’ve the night before. Instead, he held his gaze steady and stared into his eyes, his brow creased in concern.

“If I take the antidote,” Roy asked carefully, “would you believe me?”

Slowly, Wolt nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. His heart stung with the knowledge that there would be nothing to believe once this was over, but he shoved it down as he had before. There were things more important than his futile infatuation. He couldn’t be selfish now.

Roy lingered for a moment longer, as if analyzing him, before nodding as well.

“Okay, then,” he said.

“Okay?”

“Okay. I just have one condition.”

\--

“Absolutely not.”

Lance’s mouth was drawn into a tight, stern frown, and he resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose for the tenth time that day. 

“We all know what happened last time you were alone together,” he continued. “Frankly, it’d be plain irresponsible.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree,” said Lilina. She had abandoned her post in the infirmary to join them in the holding cells after being told of Roy’s tentative cooperation, and she stood in front of her friend’s cell with a determined stance. “I’m not exactly thrilled with the idea of you two being out of reach at the moment.”

“With all due respect,” replied Wolt cautiously, “I’m not sure there’s much room for negotiation.”

Lance took a moment to glance at their lord; the redhead was looking much better, having apparently shaved himself, and as expected he was sitting much too close to his object of affection. To Lance’s chagrin, he had to gall to smile innocently at them.

“I’ve promised to be on my best behaviour,” said Roy cheerfully, “so I can assure you there won’t be any trouble. I always keep my word.”

Lilina and Lance shared a brief, doubtful glance before fixing Roy with a firm look.

“No,” they said, in almost perfect unison. Wolt took the chance to stand up as Roy smiled that fake, too-patient diplomatic smile he’d always used when dealing with stubborn Lords.

“Can’t we make a compromise?” offered Wolt. Between Roy and Lilina, the archer knew that any kind of stalemate could last for hours. Though it may have been his imagination, Wolt thought he could see the rash on Roy’s neck creeping ever upwards. He didn’t know what it meant, but it obviously wasn’t something to let spread. They didn’t have time to be stubborn.

Lance sighed heavily and looked to Lilina, who was staring resolutely at their captive.

“I don’t know,” she said, more to Roy than to Wolt. “Can we?”

Roy said nothing, but he held her gaze, and the fake-patient smile didn’t fade from his face.

The two friends stared at each other for a moment, neither giving ground, until finally Lilina huffed a frustrated sigh and pressed her hand against her brow.

“I’ll be honest,” she said. “The amount of unlawful assault that the two of you have committed in the last seventy-eight hours is giving me an enormous headache, and I’m still incredibly cross at the both of you.”

Wolt tried his best not to be intimidated and failed as Roy nodded calmly.

“The last several days have been incredibly frustrating,” Lilina continued pointedly, “so I’m afraid you’ll need a very convincing reason as to why we should leave you, your fixation, and the only remedy to your condition alone in a hedge maze.”

“Because I promised Wolt I would do it,” Roy replied simply. “And the hedge maze is special to us. It’s _ our _ place, you know.”

“Yes, we know,” said Lance, and though his face was as collected as expected his voice held a dismayed grimace. “You were very specific in explaining exactly why that is, M’Lord.”

“It’s where we realized we were--”

“In love, yes M’Lord.” 

“In anycase,” Roy continued, “I’m obviously not keen on taking this supposed remedy otherwise. Or eating, for that matter.” He smiled brightly at Lilina then, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know you’re much too clever to not try putting it in my food.”

There was a moment of silence as Wolt watched the two nobles watch eachother, a tight tension filling the room. It wasn’t until Lilina fixed the marquis with a look that very plainly said, ‘you’re lucky I love you, you stupid bastard,’ that Wolt knew that Roy was going to get his way.

“Fine,” Lilina sighed, but there was still determination glowing in her eyes.

“With one provision, of course.”

“Of course!” replied Wolt quickly. He looked down to his temporary cellmate. “It’s only fair, isn’t it?” 

Roy gave him a look, but it was stern for only for the smallest of moments before evolving into a fond, simpering one that Wolt was by now getting quite sick of. The redhead nodded at his friend, and Wolt gave a sigh of relief. At least the potion had been good for one thing.

“Wonderful,” said Lilina, and she placed her hands on her hips as she nodded as well. “Let’s go and fetch Alan, then.”

\--

Goddammit, Wolt thought, and he thought it again and again as Alan escorted them across the courtyard and through the walls of roses and thorns. Usually Wolt would have no problem with Alan escorting the two of them. He always looked up to the older knight and admired his grit and determination, but he seemed to be enjoying this entire predicament far too much. Currently he was amusing himself by pointedly looking between the the two of them and raising his eyebrows suggestively. Even more annoyingly, Wolt seemed to be the only one to notice. It wasn’t until they were just shy of entering the middle chamber of the maze that Roy stopped and looked pointedly at him. Alan stopped as well, his hands held up defensively.

“Alright, alright,” he said, and to Wolt’s chagrin it was obvious that he was trying not to laugh. “I get it, you don’t want an old man like me interrupting. Just promise to keep your hands to yourself, Wolt.” He winked. “We all know how bold you are.”

Wolt glared his hardest, most intimidating glare at him. This was too much for Alan, who couldn’t help but laugh, and Wolt gave up immediately. His pride was damaged enough as it was.

“Let’s go,” he muttered, and Roy reached out to hold his hand gently and smiled. Wolt tried his best to memorize the sight and block out Alan simultaneously. This was the last time he figured he’d see it, after all.

“I’ll be right here,” promised Alan between muffled laughs. Roy squeezed Wolt’s hand again before pulling him further into the maze’s center. This was the last time, he thought. The last.

Would Roy even want to look at him again?

With that, the two men turned the last few corners that led into the belly of the labyrinth, their companion’s chortling still barely audible through the foliage. It was much the same as they left it--the same wrought iron bench and stone dancer statue--but it felt different. It felt like an ending neither of them were excited to meet.

This time it was Wolt who led a hesitating Roy, and soon he had them perched on their spots on the bench, vial in hand. For once, Roy refused to meet his eyes.

“Are you ready?” asked Wolt. Roy shrugged, his gaze fixed on the base of the statue, and Wolt nudged him.

“I don’t want to,” he said quietly.

“Please,” said Wolt. “I’ll do anything you want after you’ve taken it. I’ll go to bed with you. I’ll even marry you, if you want. _ Please. _”

It was fine. He could make these promises. Roy wouldn’t want him after all of this passed anyway.

Roy paused for a moment, and he looked up at Wolt wide eyed. The archer tried not to squirm under his gaze.

“Really?” he asked. Wolt nodded, his face nervous, and he took a seat next to his friend on the bench.

“But only if you take the antidote first,” he said, and he slipped the vial into the marquis’ hand.

Roy stared at it for a moment.

“I don’t want to take it,” he repeated.

“I know you don’t,” Wolt replied, “but you have to. You promised.”

“You’ll stay with me, right?”

“Until the world ends.”

Roy smiled ruefully as he uncapped the small glass bottle, and his eyes seemed to sting. Wolt hoped it was from the antidote’s strong, acidic smell. 

“Gods,” said Roy. “If only you’d love me.” 

Without another word, he tipped the vial into his mouth and winced. Swallowed. Despite himself, Wolt traced the path of his Adam's apple with his eyes. 

It was over.

“Will you hold me until it works?” Roy asked. Wolt nodded, and Roy sighed as he let himself be pulled into the other’s side. He was still so _ warm _.

“Please don’t leave,” said Roy, his fingers intertwining with that of his friend. “Please don’t hate me.”

“I won’t,” Wolt promised. “I said so, right? I won’t ever.”

Roy swallowed again and closed his eyes, and Wolt let his mind wander as the other’s breathing calmed. Would Roy want him around after this? He’ll be mortified for sure, Wolt thought. He’d give him his space, if that’s what he wanted. He’d go away altogether if he asked. It would hurt, but he’d do it. He’d do anything for Roy.

Suddenly, Roy shot up in his seat, startling Wolt out of his ruminations. The lord’s back was straight as an arrow and his eyes as wide as saucers as he grabbed at his stomach and neck.

“Oh, no,” he said, the blood draining from his face. “Oh, no no no. Wolt…” 

“What’s wrong?” asked Wolt, panicked. “Are you okay? Should I go get Lady Clarine? Should I call for Alan?”

Roy grabbed at Wolt’s tunic with one hand and shook his head vigorously, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to form words. Wolt’s mind raced as his friend bent over in pain, heaving. He should go and get help. He should stay and make sure Roy didn’t die. He needed to--

It was at this moment that fate seemed to decide that Wolt needed to suffer one last, final indignity, and Roy promptly began to empty the contents of his stomach onto Wolt’s only pair of good boots.

\--

“Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Wolt. He hovered over Roy like a worried mother as the lord wiped his face clean with his handkerchief. Roy waved him away with a grimace.

“I’m fine,” he replied. “I’m--sorry about your boots. Saint Elimine, Wolt I’m sorry for everything.”

“Roy--”

“Do you hate me, Wolt?” the younger man asked suddenly, and Wolt shook his head, bewildered.

“Of course not,” he said. “They’re just boots, after all.”

They were his good boots, yes, and they were currently festering over in the corner of their section of the maze, unsalvageable, but Wolt couldn’t be angry. That strange, ever present glimmer had finally disappeared from Roy’s eyes. The rash had faded. He was finally himself again.

“Not for that,” said Roy. He looked down at his hands. He was picking almost obsessively at the skin around his nails, and he swallowed thickly as Wolt pressed his own hand over them to stop it. “The rest of it, I mean. How I… Gods. _ Dammit. _”

“Ah,” replied Wolt, awkwardly. In all of the panic and commotion of Roy’s sudden sickness he’d almost forgotten the past week.

Almost. As much as he was ashamed to admit it, he knew that he would probably be hoarding some of those less frightening memories away for his more lonely nights.

“I can’t forgive myself,” Roy continued, “and you shouldn’t forgive me either. You should never, ever forgive me. I don’t deserve it.”

“That’s a bit unreasonable, don’t you think?”

“No,” said Roy, and when he looked at Wolt there was such fire and determination in his eyes that the archer had to flinch. “I _ hurt _ you, Wolt. You, of all people.” He bit his lip as he glanced away miserably. “You looked so _ scared. _ How didn’t I notice? Why didn't I stop?"

Roy shook his head.

“It’s unforgivable,” he repeated, his tone final. “You shouldn’t even want to talk to me.”

“It’s not your fault,” Wolt replied gently. He moved his hand to lay on Roy’s shoulder consolingly. He tried not to think about the night before and the warmth beneath the silk. “You were basically being controlled, right? You didn’t want to do any of it.”

He didn’t. Wolt thought back to how Roy’s eyes had sparkled in the candlelight that first night, how tenderly he’d been kissed. How desperate he’d looked as he said he loved him.

No. Roy didn’t want any of that.

“But I did,” Roy argued, and his voice was so full of self loathing that Wolt almost missed the statement. “I wanted all of that so badly, I ignored any evidence that you didn’t. Worse, I’ve been thinking of doing things like that for such a long time. I’ve been projecting on you for all of these years, and never once did I think about what you wanted.” He buried his face in his hands then, his jaw tight. 

“I’m so sorry, Wolt. I’m so _ selfish _. I’m sorry.”

Wolt stared blankly at him for a moment. 

“Oh,” said Wolt numbly. “Um. Wait, hold on.”

“Mm?” replied Roy, his voice muffled. He’d yet to remove his head from his hands.

“Did… What do you mean? ” Wolt asked dumbly. “Do you _ like _ me?”

“What? Of course I do.” Roy snorted, and he looked up at Wolt with a look so insulted that it was almost comical. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve always liked you. I’ve liked you since we were little.”

Oh, thought Wolt. _ Oh. _ Wait. What? No.

... 

_ ...What? _

“Oh,” said Wolt. “I didn’t notice.”

“And I thought you liked me back,” Roy continued, miserable. “I thought you were flirting with me this whole time, but it turns out you were just putting up with it for years. Gods, Wolt, I’m so _ stupid--” _

Roy didn’t get to finish his sentence. In that moment, his shock having been replaced with a strange, impulsive urgency, Wolt decided to finally make the next move and closed the space that lay between them there in the hedge maze.

Roy tasted a bit too much like vomit for the kiss to be truly enjoyable, but Wolt didn’t care.

Roy thought about him. Roy _ liked _him. It was too good to be true--

Wait. It was too good to be true. If there was one thing that Wolt had learnt this week, it was that fate had a cruel, twisted sense of humour and a seemingly endless vendetta against lovesick archers. As suddenly as he had lunged, Wolt broke off the kiss to search Roy’s face, his eyes cautious.

“This isn’t a joke, right?” he asked. “You’re not making fun of me, right? This isn’t a trick?”

“What?” replied Roy, stunned. “No? I wouldn’t-- I’m confused. _ What? _”

It was in that moment that Roy learned just how much of a complete dumbass the love of his life actually was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R I P me  
this went through like twenty rewrites and it's still badly paced and rushed. There's lots of hanging threads left and I might write a short follow up in the far future but that's it for desiderium.
> 
> Also, Black Lives Matter, visit https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/. I will now crawl back into my hole of abominations for another half year. farewell.


End file.
